Chapter 8 #2
“What the fuck is Mod Podge?”
“Glue?” I shrug. “I don’t know. Do I look like someone who crafts?”
I turn to face him, my gaze trailing over his jaw before finally landing on his dark, coffee-brown eyes.
“Does Lefevre cook for himself?” Kane asks, jolting me out of the staring contest I seem to have been the only contestant in.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. I let the nutritionist handle that.”
“And here I thought you were the type of coach who didn’t know how to delegate.” His eyes widen as he turns to look at me fully, his hands going up in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t mean that.”
The timer rings, and I decide to ignore his comment. Because what does that even mean? He’s been here for over a month, and I’ve never once asked him about his nutrition. Honestly, I couldn’t give a shit as long as he performs, which he has been. As much as it pains me to admit.
“Saved by the bell.” I drop down in front of the oven, peering in at the little mounds of white inside. Neither of us has any idea how to tell whether a cupcake is cooked the appropriate amount or not, and since we’re running short on time, we decide to pull them out.
“I think we need to do that,” Kane says, subtly nodding toward Li, who is fanning his cupcakes with a baking sheet.
“You don’t think sticking them in the fridge is the way to go?” I ask.
Kane considers it, glancing back at the large, walk-in fridge off to the side of the room. “No one has gone in there since we’ve gotten eggs.”
“I see your point,” I agree. “I’ll fan; you work the mixer to see if you can make a few more colors. Probably black and Yeti blue?”
“I’m on it,” Kane replies with a nod. “It’ll match your eyes.”
I gape at him. That was, yup. Super normal and not at all making my body turn weird temperatures.
He clears his throat before quickly grabbing the little box of food coloring. He stares at the instructions on the back like it’s his first hockey contract, and he can’t believe it’s really real. His cheeks turn red, clearly embarrassed to have admitted that he—what?—noticed I had eyes.
Finally, I turn back to our cupcakes, tentatively picking each one out of the tray and setting them on the little wire thing Li has his on before fanning them.
We work in silence for the rest of the allotted time, our arms occasionally bumping as we both work side by side.
It’s distracting in a way that makes me glad I have my own office. I hate sharing space with others.
“Holy buckets!” I exclaim, looking over at the cupcake Kane is working on. “You are a crafter.”
It’s a masterpiece. He’s only done one in the time it’s taken me to make three of the cupcakes into little ice rinks, but shit. His yeti looks like the one on the timer in front of him.
No wonder the social media team has all been over here, phones focused on him. I assumed it was because he’s by far the most attractive player here, but no—he’s actually fucking good at decorating cupcakes.
Kane looks up, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Yeah, no, yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever actually frosted a cupcake before.”
“I call bullshit,” I say, then, remembering my role, I wink at the camera now trained on me. “Don’t let the secret out of the bag too soon, Kane.”
Directly behind me, Sabrina laughs, and I almost jump. Jesus. When did she get there?
Kane keeps his eyes trained on his cupcake, slowly using a dark purple we’re calling black to create the wide-open mouth of the yeti.
“You totally know what Mod Podge is,” I whisper.
“Mod what?” His lips lift into a small grin.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I laugh, and it’s well worth it when a proud smile creeps across his face.
Then, we fall into an easy silence as we both work, trying to get these cupcakes frosted before time runs out.
“Faster, Kane,” I hiss, watching the time tick down on the large clock in front of us. I’ve frosted a total of nine cupcakes, six that could possibly pass as rinks and three that are just large, black circles I’m calling pucks.
“I’m hurrying,” he replies, his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he concentrates on the hockey stick the yeti is holding.
“Time!” Sabrina yells as Kane puts the finishing touches on it.
He looks up, smiling, before his eyes drift to the cupcakes I decorated. “What the fuck is that?” he whispers, a snort-like sound accompanying the question, as Sabrina does some sort of recap up front.
“Rink.” I point at the white ones. They look fine. Better than I anticipated. “And those are the black pits of my soul.”
Kane snorts again.
“Or we could call them pucks if you think the judges would be opposed to soul cupcakes.”
“Pucks, right. You’d think that would’ve been… easier.”
I breathe in, reminding myself that I can never, under any circumstances, be caught rolling my eyes on camera. Even if it’s almost painful keeping myself from doing it.
“Hey, thanks. And, if you didn’t notice, they’re decorated. All nine of them.”
Sabrina claps her hands, drawing everyone’s attention. She then proceeds to walk around the room, making each group show off their cupcakes before the three judges take a bite.
We all know the interns are going to lose—the smell of their burning cake batter wafted through the place as soon as they opened their oven—but the rest is a mystery to me.
The judges let out gasps of delight when Larsen uncovers their cupcakes, showing off excellent replicas of the team jerseys, each with a different name and number.
After the judges try theirs, Larsen picks one up and, with a dramatic flair, flashes Kane his name and number before taking a giant bite out of it. Fucking Rookie.
Finally, it’s our turn.
“Wow!” the woman on the left exclaims. “These look just like the mascot!”
Kane dips his chin while the other two judges look at the pucks. One has his eyebrows drawn down so far; the only explanation is that he’s taking a break from judging cupcakes to solve world hunger.
“Coach really carried the team with the pucks and the rinks, though.” Kane offers me a slight smile. One that definitely doesn’t make my insides swirl.
“The lines are impressive. Very straight,” the enthusiastic woman gushes.
The three judges take bites of the cupcakes, letting us know they’re pretty good before moving on.
What feels like an hour later, Sabrina finally announces the judges’ scores. Li and Larsen, unsurprisingly, won with their jerseys and apparently “very tasty” chocolate cupcakes.
“And, in an unexpected twist,” Sabrina says, “Coach Blake and Kane came in second. What a team, those two!”
A warmth spreads through my chest at her comment that I immediately shut down. Oh, fuck.
I’m barely paying attention as she moves on to announce J.D. and Rob squeaked out a third-place spot over Bjork and Volkov; my brain is still stuck on her declaration about us being a good team.
I force myself out of my head long enough to laugh with everyone else when the team captain and Rob chest-bump in their yeti aprons before quickly packing up the extra cupcakes to leave in the front-office breakroom.
“Here.” Kane takes a few out of my box and putting them in a different one. “We’ll give these to the poor interns who burned theirs.”
I nod, not sure what to do with my hands. Or my face. Or my voice.
Kane glances at me. “Not a bad showing for two people who don’t know what Mod Podge is.” He emphasizes the word two.
I shoot him a sarcastic smile. That man totally knows what it is.
“We do make a pretty good team, Coach.”
I open my mouth to brush him off. To make some snarky comment about not needing anyone on my team, but that’s not true. I did need him today. And he’s right. We do make a good team.
Which is exactly the problem.
“Well, as long as you keep pulling out hidden talents, I think we’ll be okay.” I grab the box of cupcakes and make a beeline toward the door—not even taking the time to pull off the stupid yeti apron. I have to get out of this room and away from whatever it’s doing to my heart rate.