Chapter 2 #3
“There will be no fucking her. No touching her. Don’t even look at her if you can avoid it.”
I make a check mark in the air with my finger. “Got it. No plans to go anywhere near your daughter. There will be no touching, no sexual encounters, completely and utterly platonic.”
He eyes me suspiciously, then finally says, “Good. Now sign on the line at the bottom.”
“You want me to sign this?” I ask.
“Yes, I want you to agree to these terms and sign it.”
Jokingly, I flip to the blank back page and then to the front again. “I don’t know, sir. I think I might want my lawyer to look this over. Possibly my agent.”
“Sign the fucking paper, Posey.”
“Yup,” I say, nearly jumping out of my seat from his booming voice. I grab a pen off his desk, sign quickly at the bottom, and then hand the paper back over to him. “Should we shake? Hug it out? Grab a whiskey and cheers?”
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
“Sooo, that’s a no on the celebration?”
“Get out,” he yells while pointing at the door.
“Great, yup, I wanted to leave anyway.” I stand from my chair and grip the handle to the door right before I pull away and ask, “Uh, when do I meet her?”
“Tonight, after the game. Come to my office.”
“Got it. Okay, see you then. Yay for teaching lessons.” I raise my fist in celebration.
He just points at the door. I get the hint and leave his office and head down the hallway toward the locker room, feeling like I was just put through the wringer.
So I have an assistant now.
I’d be sort of thrilled if it wasn’t the coach’s daughter.
Really thrilled if I didn’t have this sick feeling that I’m being set up to fail.
Incredibly thrilled if I wasn’t the one who had to teach this twenty-two-year-old a lesson on responsibility and career building.
What the hell am I in for?
“Just put a butterfly bandage over it,” I say as blood drips down the side of my face.
Grace, our trainer, holds a towel to my face. “This needs to be cleaned up. I can’t just put a butterfly bandage on it.”
“I need to get back out on the ice,” I say.
“You’re winning by two goals and have one minute left in the game. You’re going to the training room. Now move.”
Irritated, I take the towel from her, press it against my face myself, then let her guide me back to the training room, fans on either side cheering me on as I leave the game.
Surprisingly, this was not from a fight.
Instead, it was an elbow to the head. Must have been a hard as shit elbow because I’ve never broken skin like this before.
Just my luck.
When we reach the training room, Grace tells me to take a seat on one of the benches, so I do as I’m told, sit down, and then pull my jersey up and over my head while Grace gathers the supplies she needs.
She glances over at me and says, “I’d appreciate it if you hold the towel to your head to help with the bleeding and not disrobe yourself.”
“Sorry,” I mutter as I bring the towel back up to my forehead, right above my eye.
When she comes over with her supplies, she sets them down on the bench and says, “You seem a bit off tonight. Any reason?”
“Off?” I say. “How so?”
“Well, normally, if someone elbowed you in the head, you would have tossed your gloves and gone after them. You wouldn’t have stood there, stunned. I think the fans were just as confused as your teammates. Think they were looking for a Posey Brawl.”
“Oh,” I say. “I guess I didn’t think about it.”
“Which means you were thinking about something else. Care to share what that is?”
“Not really,” I say because I’m not sure I’m even aware of what’s going on.
When I went back to the boys, they asked what Coach Wood wanted, and I told them that his daughter was looking for work and wondered if I needed an assistant. I left it at that. I felt like if I got into the details, they’d ask a lot of questions, and I wasn’t up for it.
“Well, if you need someone to talk to about it, I’m here. You know, if it’s girl troubles or something like that.”
“Thanks, Grace,” I say as she starts cleaning my cut. “I do have a question for you.”
“Yeah?” she asks as she picks up some gauze. “What is it?”
“Do you happen to know who is eating my bologna?”
She pauses and lifts away from me to look me in the eyes. “That’s your question?”
“Yes,” I groan. “Someone is eating it, and I didn’t get to have my pre-game sandwich today and I think it made me sluggish. I rely on that sandwich.”
“Bologna is terrible for you. How many times have we gone over this?”
“Bologna is my savior. Wait . . .” I look at her. “Is it you? Are you taking my bologna away because you think it’s bad for me, therefore you’re eliminating it from my diet? That’s really something we should discuss, Grace, before you start taking my bologna. Don’t you think?”
“I’m not taking your freaking bologna, Posey. I might think it’s terrible for you, but I understand the importance of rituals. I wouldn’t mess with that.”
“So then who is taking my bologna?”
“You just got a gash in the head, and that’s what you’re worried about?” she asks.
“Yes, because I don’t get hurt. But I didn’t have a bologna sandwich today, so maybe that’s the reason.”
Grace shakes her head as she finishes. “That’s not the reason, but nice try. Okay, you’re all set. Do not touch the tape, as you know, and wash your face with a washcloth. See me tomorrow so I can look at it.”
I hop off the bench and grab my jersey. “Thanks, Grace.”
“Not a problem,” she says. “And hey, if you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
I offer her a smile and then head into the locker room just as the guys start filtering in, smiles on their faces. We secured the win.
“How’s the head?” Eli asks as he walks by me.
“Fine,” I answer. “All bandaged up.”
“You looked stunned out there on the ice. Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yup. Everything is fine,” I answer. “Just have a headache.”
“Posey,” Coach calls out from the entry of the locker room. “Ten minutes, my office.”
Jesus, can’t give a guy a goddamn second?
I nod, but he’s gone before he even sees me agreeing.
“What’s that about?” Eli asks.
“Meeting his daughter, who is going to be my assistant.”
“Wood’s daughter is going to be your assistant?” Eli asks. “Dude, how did that happen?”
“Wait, you knew he had a daughter?”
“Everyone knows he has a daughter.”
“Not everyone,” I mumble. “But anyway, he knew I didn’t have an assistant, and his daughter was looking for some experience.” It’s not a total lie. “Could be nice.”
“So clearly, you’ve never met her,” he says.
“No.” I take off my skates and pads, being careful of my head. “Have you?”
“Yeah. Penny introduced me once.” Eli smirks. “Dude, you have your work cut out for you.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“You’ll see.” He chuckles, then nods toward the showers. “Better wash up. Wood doesn’t like it when you’re late.”
I eye Eli for a few more seconds, but all he does is smile, so I move toward the showers and clean up.
The entire time as I work through the process of trying to de-escalate my adrenaline from the game, I try to come up with a scenario where none of this will be weird and awkward, but the more I think about it, the more I regret agreeing to hire Coach Wood’s daughter.
Like . . . really fucking regret it.
And it doesn’t help that Hornsby tells me I have my work cut out for me. What the hell does that even mean?
I power through getting dressed, ignoring the chatter in the locker room, and avoiding reporters. I pocket my wallet, phone, and keys and then head toward Coach’s office without a single goodbye to my friends. It wouldn’t be the first time I snuck out.
When I reach Coach Wood’s door, I give it a knock.
“Come in,” he says.
I push through the door, half expecting his daughter to be in there, but when I see two empty chairs in front of his desk, I realize it’s just me and him again.
He looks up at me from his tablet. “How’s the head?”
“Fine,” I answer. “Good win today.”
“Could have been better,” he says. Under Coach Wood’s regime, there is always room for improvement. It’s why we won last season, and it’s why we’re on track to win this season.
I take a seat. “Is your daughter here?”
“Does she look like she’s here?” he asks.
“No, but I thought I would, I don’t know, engage in small talk.”
“Posey, does it seem like I’m the kind of guy who wants to engage in small talk?”
“Nope,” I answer, rubbing my hands over my thighs.
“She’s on her way. And when she gets here, I want to remind you of the rules we went over.”
“Trust me.” I tap my head. “They’re engrained here. I’m here to teach her a valuable lesson about earning an education and nothing more. I don’t house her. I don’t feed her. We are not friends, and I certainly don’t fuck her.”
“Correct.” He taps away on his iPad. “Because I don’t want you fucking this up, I thought it might be easier on you if I send you a list of things for her to do every week on top of her tasks. That way, you don’t slip up.”
“Oh, shit, yeah, that would be helpful. Nothing too crazy, right? Like . . . getting me adult diapers. Because I know that might seem funny to you, but it’s not funny to me.”
“I don’t have time to joke around, Posey.”
“Right,” I say while nodding. “That was foolish of me to think you would take advantage of the situation and try to embarrass me.” Or that you have any hint of a sense of humor.
“If you slip up, I will embarrass you. Keep that in mind.”
“No need to worry about me slipping up. I’m as solid as they come. Probably the most trustworthy on your team. Well-respected among the team, I’ve led the charge in many missions. I have this in the bag.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the door, and Coach Wood and I sit a little taller.
“Come in,” Coach Wood says.
Yes, please come in. Can’t wait to start this misery.
I hold my breath as the door cracks open, and a very familiar redhead pokes her head in. With a smile to her father, she says, “Is now a good time?”