Chapter 72
JORDAN
“Hi,” I say on Friday morning.
We’re at the arena, gathered in the lobby, and everyone quiets down to look at me.
Everyone.
Tate, the team, the analysts, the trainers, the medical staff. Operations, marketing, accounting and finance, legal. The food and beverage team. The styling team who make the merch look nice in the stores. The custodians. The team dentist.
Everyone.
My hands are shaking. I want the team to feel hope, though, so I push my shoulders back and straighten my spine. Tate and I meet eyes, and he gives me that warm, crinkly-eyed smile.
I believe in you. You belong here, he said once.
I take a deep breath. “Thanks for coming, everyone.”
The pro team and the farm team stand in two separate groups—something that will hopefully change by the end of the day, because tomorrow, we’re going to start practicing, and these guys need to feel like one team, not two.
The elevator doors open and my dad slips out, nodding hello at me but staying at the back of the group.
“We’re going to do something different today,” I tell the group. “A team building exercise.”
“Trust falls?” Luca asks, and people laugh. I smile at him.
“No. Not trust falls. A city-wide scavenger hunt.”
I explain the rules, including the stipulation that they can only take a rideshare or car once today and must use rental bikes or public transit for the rest of the scavenger hunt.
A ripple runs through the guys, something electric and competitive as they glance at each other, shifting and straightening up. It’s like their batteries have been charged.
There. This is what we wanted to see. Some life in this team again. Some hope and interest.
“No helicopters,” I add, eyes on Luca, and the guys laugh, including Tate.
I grin. Okay, this isn’t so bad.
“The first team to complete every task wins.” I pause as they all stare at me, waiting. “What, do you want a whistle or something?” I grin. “Go.”
“What in the world is going on with the Vancouver Storm?” the broadcaster asks on the sports news that evening.
The Filthy Flamingo is full of people as we watch the television I finally relented on.
“After a shocking turn of events and a last-minute wild card spot, players were spotted all over Vancouver today in some type of team scavenger hunt.”
Pictures from social media flash across the screen.
Luca riding a rented bike along the seawall, taking pictures with fans.
Hayden at the Vancouver Public Library with his new library card.
Carey playing a busker’s guitar at Granville Island.
Jamie with the otters at the aquarium. Rory buying a bun from a bakery in Chinatown.
Alexei supervising while some of the younger players hand out tulips at Kitsilano Beach.
White tulips mean starting over, apparently.
It’s a love letter to Vancouver, and a way to show the city that we’ll fight until the end because we love this game.
“Rumors are circulating that this is the work of Jordan Hathaway, Ross Sheridan’s daughter and the likely eventual owner of the Storm.”
A photo of me appears on screen and Georgia catcalls. I cut her a flat look as I grab the remote and turn off the TV.
“Boo,” Luca yells and I flip him the finger before I turn the music back up.
The conversation in the bar resumes, and Tate comes to my side.
“Your idea worked,” he says.
“We’ll see what happens tomorrow.” The farm team and pro team are going to practice together.
“I have a feeling that’ll work too.” He studies me. “What are you thinking about?”
That I want to kiss him. That I feel close to him. That I want more from him.
“That you look very well-rested today.” My mouth twitches as I focus on wiping the glass in my hand.
Players glance over at us with knowing smiles.
They can’t hear us, but it’s obvious from my playful smirk and Tate’s eyes on me like he could devour me, his body leaning toward me with his full attention.
I don’t care, I realize. I don’t care if they know there’s something going on with us. I should, because it’ll be humiliating when it’s over, but for now, I want to enjoy it.
“I am well-rested,” Tate says. “I slept great.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say as if I had nothing to do with it, despite the butterflies going off in my stomach. “Nothing beats a solid eight hours.”
His smile is warm and steady. “I hope I sleep well again tonight.”
My stomach dips. Is he—?
“Yes,” he says, eyes on mine. “It’s an invitation to sleep in my bed tonight. And tomorrow. And for as many nights as you’d like.”
“What about Bea?” I say, heart in my throat.
“I’ll keep the door closed and you can leave before she gets up.”
I don’t know why I snag on that. I don’t know why I wish he’d say something like let her know. She’s a child, and this is the dangerous part, letting her get her hopes up.
He watches me carefully, and when I nod, he exhales, shoulders inching down.
“Good,” he says, like that’s final. “See you later, Jordan. I’m looking forward to it.”
We’ve kissed. We’ve fooled around. The promise of falling asleep together regularly feels more intimate than any of that, though.
“Me, too,” I admit.
I watch him as he heads back to the guys, my heart squeezing with happiness.
Tate’s sprawled out in bed that night when I appear in his doorway, leaning against the headboard with a toned arm tucked behind his head, watching a game on TV.
He looks at me and his face breaks into a soft, relieved smile.
“Hi,” I whisper, closing the door behind me.
“Hi,” he says back, eyes tracking me as I make my way to him.
I climb onto the bed but he’s already reaching for me, pulling me on top of him, lifting up to kiss me like it’s been weeks since he saw me instead of hours.
He kisses with urgency, like he missed me.
I straddle him, knees on either side of his torso, while his hands thread into my hair and he makes noises of enjoyment into my mouth, like I’m delicious.
My bangs fall into my eyes and he pushes them aside. “Did I ever tell you how much I like you with bangs?” he asks.
I shake my head. “They’re something, you said when I got my hair cut.”
He laughs a little. “Well, I do. I love them on you. I just couldn’t tell you at the time.”
He wraps his hand around the back of my neck, pulls me back for another kiss and my brain floats, happy and quiet.
“Tate?” I ask quietly in between kisses a minute later.
“Mmm?” His lips come to my jaw, my neck, and his voice sounds far away, like he’s busy and I’m distracting him.
“You know the pink panties Phoebe brought you?”
“Uh-huh.” He sucks a sensitive spot beneath my ear and my breath catches. It’s hard to think when he’s doing that.
“When you, um. What did you—” My hips tilt, pressing my aching center to his erection, and we both make a desperate noise. “You had them for a while.”
He pauses, pulling back to look at me with a little smile on his mouth. “How do you know that?”
“They were hanging out of your drawer when I babysat Bea.” My face is going warm. I hope he doesn’t think I snooped. “I saw them when I walked by your room.” I make a self-conscious face. “I was looking to see if you had a TV.”
He’s smiling more now, like he’s not embarrassed. It’s all so easy and fun with him. “Okay. I had them for a while before giving them back.”
There’s a fluttery, light feeling in my chest and I tilt my hips against him once more, scattering sparks through my body. His eyelids dip and he grips my hips.
“What did you do with them?” I ask.
He arches an eyebrow, something hot but playful in his eyes. “You want me to show you?”
I bite my lip and nod, and in an instant, I’m yelping with surprised laughter as he flips me over onto my back and starts to undress.