“I need a huge favor.” Tiffany’s sickly voice makes my heart ache. “I need you to go to the meet and greet.”
I laugh loudly. “No freaking way.”
“Lexie, please. I’m dying here, and I’ve been wanting Ashton Campbell’s autograph my whole life.”
“Stop being so melodramatic. He’s been the captain for the last three seasons, and he’s younger than us.” I roll my eyes at her.
“Lexie, you’re my best friend. This is the only chance that I’ll ever get for him to sign my jersey. Please, I’m begging. I’ll do anything.”
I perk up at her offer. “Even if I ask you to help me with the Steinbergs’ sweet-sixteen party?”
They were becoming our unruly clients. They wanted everything and anything for their daughter’s birthday, including celebrities, which is impossible.
“Fine,” she groans. “You have a deal.”
“I’ll be over in a few to grab the jersey.”
~
Walking into the arena makes my heart flutter. I love it more than anything. The bright lights gleaming on the fresh sheet of ice. Everyone is buzzing with excitement. Even if I hate the Utah Bears, it’s still hockey, and I love it. I love it more when the Gamblers take the ice. I search for number eighty-seven. He’s my favorite player. I watch him skate around. His black hair, slightly long, hanging from the back of his helmet. If anyone can be called the best hockey player, it’s him.
I watch as Ashton and Jax take center ice, and my heart thumps hard against my chest. When the puck drops, the crowd cheers.
The season has begun.
Chapter Two
Ashton
One thing about having Jax Godwin as my best friend is that us playing against each other always brings a fun game. We know each other too well for it to be anything other than entertaining. We’re both so competitive, too.
“Stop being such a pussy and play like a man,” Jax grunts as he slams into me, stealing the puck.
I want to laugh, but I chase after him with determination instead. His team won the last time we played, so it’s time for a little payback. Plus, my son is at home watching, hoping that his dad will beat his Uncle Jax. With thoughts of Reed in my head, I push my legs harder and faster to capture the puck once more. Jax and his team play tough, but it’s not enough tonight.
A win is always good, but especially when there is a meet and greet afterwards. Before I head into the room where it’s being held, I call Brooke, Reed’s mother. She was supposed to let him stay up late tonight to watch the game since it was both Jax and me playing.
“Sorry, Ashton,” she answers. “He was knocked out halfway through the third.”
For a moment, my shoulders sag; he didn’t see my late goal. He needs sleep instead, so he can focus in school. I don’t know where he got it from, but the boy loves going to school. “Well, I’ll call him tomorrow and tell him all the details then,” I tell her. “I should go, though.”
“Okay, call me later. We need to go over some kinks in the schedule for when Reed is with you.”
If there is one thing I hate about my job, it’s that I’m away from him. He’s my world and I’m lucky that Brooke is his mother. We’ve always been close friends, but after a night of drinking entirely too much, we slept together. Soon after, she learned she was pregnant. I love her, she’s one of my best friends, and I couldn’t have asked for a better person to raise my son with.
With a smile on my face from the good thoughts, I head to the meet and greet. There’s a small gathering of people, clustered around the other players already here. My eyes are immediately drawn to a woman across the room. I’m not sure if it’s because this gorgeous redhead doesn’t look even remotely happy about being here or if it’s because she’s out of place with her Gamblers’ jersey. Jax’s jersey, if I’m not mistaken. I’m pretty sure there’s a C peeking out from beneath the hair hanging around her shoulders.
Her green eyes look around until she’s staring right at me. They harden into a glare. Why is she here? Doesn’t she realize her team isn’t in this room? Maybe she’s lost or something. I travel through the people until I’m standing in front of her. Her beautiful mouth flattens, her jaw locking with distaste.
“Sign this,” she states plainly, shoving one of my jerseys at me.
“Sign this what?” I grin. “Kind of rude to demand I do something.”
She rolls her eyes, but explains, “My best friend is your biggest fan, but she’s sick. Would you please sign it to Tiffany? Thanks.”
I uncap my marker, but can’t find it in myself to look away from her yet. “I’m sorry to hear she’s sick. Be sure to tell her get well for me.” I pause, and then add, “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you don’t like me or the Bears.”
The woman points to her own jersey. “I’m a Vegas girl. Maybe if you could put more pucks in the goal then I would be your fan. But I don’t see a Cup in your future anytime soon.”