2 - Nathan
Nathan
Awards shows are ninety percent small talk and ten percent pretending to enjoy it. I’d rather be at the bar, but our PR director insisted the Blades ‘show face’ tonight. That’s code for smiling, shaking hands, and not starting a brawl on the dance floor.
Normally, I’d push back, but with my contract up at the end of the season, it’s best to do what’s asked of me.
It doesn’t matter that I was drafted to the Blades at eighteen as their youngest player ever.
It doesn’t matter that after my two-year rookie deal ended, I’d snagged one of the best eight-year contracts in the league.
It doesn’t even matter that I want to start and end my career with the Blades.
What matters is stats, and mine are shit.
After two years of decreasing goals and assists, it’s hardly surprising that there’s no talk of a contract extension. So, here I sit, ready to kiss the asses of the people who hold my future in their hands.
I fucking hate it.
The red carpet was brutal, full of reporters asking if the Blades are restructuring in the offseason. It was a nice way of asking if I’m going to be traded. I had smiled and given some bullshit responses that were sure to be painted in a bad light whenever they went public.
I’ve learned that it really doesn’t matter what I say; someone will always find a way to poke holes in it. Once I figured that out, talking to reporters became easy.
Liam adjusts his tie for the tenth time, staring at his reflection in the champagne bucket. “Tell me I don’t look like a GQ cover.”
“You look like you’re trying too hard,” Wyatt mutters, his arms crossed. He’s already drained his first drink, probably to numb the pain of being in public. Our goalie hates crowds and all things social.
Grayson pops a canapé into his mouth and grins at Liam. “You look great, man. Very tailored.”
“That’s not a compliment,” I say.
Grayson shrugs. “Still true.”
“So is the fact that I smoked you in our one-on-one drills this week.” Liam grunts and sets the champagne bucket back up.
“Hey, I was trying to be nice.” Grayson throws one of his mini pastries at Liam, who returns the favor.
“Fuck’s sake. We’re too old for a food fight. Grow up.” Wyatt leans away as if that will make it less obvious that he’s one of us.
I snort. At six-foot-five-inches with a permanent scowl etched onto his face, there is almost nothing Wyatt could do to make people forget he plays hockey.
I sip my champagne, letting the noise of the room fill my head. The banquet hall is packed with athletes, sponsors, reporters, and team staff. It’s everything I should be good at navigating.
The right persona was hard to create: charming, confident, and only borderline cocky. The respectable bachelor. Someone seen out on the town as much as he’s seen on the ice. It sells tickets and jerseys.
That persona is the only thing keeping me on the first line at the moment. It’s hard to bench a crowd favorite and hometown hero, even if he’s playing like trash.
Regardless, I’m dangerously close to getting pushed to the second line. Just the idea of playing on the wing with someone other than Liam at center pisses me off. It’s starting to feel completely out of my control, especially considering nothing I do seems to help.
“Stop brooding.” Liam claps a hand on my shoulder. “You look like someone told you the bar is closing.”
“That would actually be tragic,” Grayson adds, shoving a slider in his mouth. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You love these things.”
“That was before he pissed off Coach Rylan at practice by failing to score a single goal on me,” Wyatt deadpans.
I glare at him. He’s not wrong, just an ass.
Liam smirks. “Is contract year making you tense?”
“Oh, fuck off.” I slap his hand away. “Where’s your date?
Teresa? Or is it Tina?” I rattle off more names I know he’s hooked up with this month.
I may be the team’s eligible bachelor who doesn’t take anything too seriously, but Liam is the playboy through and through.
He couldn’t keep it in his pants if he tried.
“Her name’s Teagan,” he huffs.
We’re harsh, but that’s our friendship in a nutshell: mild bullying and the unspoken willingness to take a puck to the face for each other. These idiots? They’re family, and losing them if my contract tanks is what I’m most worried about.
I’m still good enough to go somewhere else, but I don’t want to. Boston has been home for my entire life and leaving now? It wouldn’t just be embarrassing, it’d be heartbreaking.
My eyes scan the room, checking who’s here and which sponsors might need ego fluffing later. It’s all the usual contenders, until I spot her.
The same long legs from the limo outside suddenly have my full attention. Most women here are soaking up the attention, but she looks like she’d rather be kicked in the shins.
I caught her checking me out when we were still outside. At least, I assume that’s what she was doing, considering the way she blushed when I winked at her. Now, without the chaos of the media, I let my gaze trail over her.
Her brown hair is curled, trailing down her back. Her black dress hugs every delicious curve, cinching around her hips and showing off her figure. Damn it if she’s not the sexiest woman here tonight.
Liam follows my gaze and whistles low. “Nice. Haven’t seen her before. New reporter?”
“Publicist,” Grayson guesses. “Or someone’s plus one. Too put-together to be an intern.”
Wyatt snorts. “She was dragged here against her will. Look at her jaw. She wants to murder someone.”
He’s not wrong. She’s checking her phone, ignoring everyone, clearly wishing she were somewhere else. But even though she’s miserable, she’s turning heads. It’s not an airbrushed influencer type of gorgeous, but the kind that’s worked for if her toned legs are any indication.
I take note of the multiple men who watch her, but she doesn’t seem to notice at all. She’s either the most overconfident woman I’ve ever seen or utterly clueless. It doesn’t really matter which one, I’m into it either way.
I don’t date much, but one night with a woman who looks that good might be exactly what I need to get out of my head.
Liam elbows me. “If you’re going over there, sprinkle in some charm and try not to scare her. She’s obviously not from this scene.”
“I’m always charming, and I’m not going over there.” I am definitely going over there.
Wyatt snorts again. “Sure.”
I hand my empty glass to a passing server. “Back in a minute.”
Grayson smirks. “He’s going to crash and burn.”
“I am not. I’m just going to start a conversation.”
“About what?” Liam’s voice is a little too loud. “Her shoes? Her dress?”
My glare shuts him up. When I glance back at her, another woman is by her side, and they giggle with each other. On a whim, I grab Liam by the shoulder. “Let’s hope Trisha doesn’t mind you playing wingman.”
“It’s Teagan,” Liam says dryly. “And what do you…”
I ignore him, pulling him along as I stride toward her. The crowd parts around me. I smile and nod when necessary, like I’ve done a thousand times before.
It’s the same old shit, except for how my pulse picks up as I get closer to her.
She turns, unaware I’m approaching. Her high cheekbones catch the light, and her glossed lips are tempting.
I slow to a stop a few feet from her. For the first time tonight, maybe in my life, I don’t have a line prepared.
She doesn’t even notice me.
It does something annoying to my ego. People notice me. I’m Nathan Wilder, one of the best players in the NHL, or at least I was. I shake my head to rid myself of the doubt that’s started creeping in.
I’ve never used my status to get a girl, but it never hurts. It saves time getting through the surface stuff like my name and job. Though, based on her indifference, it might not get me anywhere tonight.
Liam coughs, pushing me forward until her piercing eyes finally land on me. They’re the blue of a cloudless summer sky.
My mouth goes dry. Fucking hell.
“Yes?” She asks, her voice soft and sure. Her hand fidgets at her side in a tiny, nervous motion. It’s a small crack in the confidence she radiates. I take it as a sign that approaching her wasn’t a mistake.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Nathan.” I lift my hand slightly before realizing that it’s a ridiculous thing to do. I’m not going to shake her hand like a business partner. Idiot.
She tilts her head ever so slightly, lips curving into the faintest smile. “Hello,” she says, but she doesn’t give me a name. Not yet. It becomes my personal mission to get it.
“I have to say, you seem to be surviving this circus better than most.”
“You know what they say.” Her laugh is brief. I wish it were longer. “If you can’t beat them, join them.”
“It’s impressive. Most people here seem like they’re trying too hard.”
She raises an eyebrow, scanning my custom suit. “You mean, like you?”
Liam snorts into his drink, and I elbow him. Mystery girl watches me, amused, but not brushing me off entirely.
I let my eyes wander over her for a minute before pushing a little further. “So, are you here as an invitee, or has your date made a terrible mistake in leaving you alone?”
“Why do you want to know?” She asks, letting the challenge hang. Definitely not brushing me off.
I smile. Game on.
“Curiosity, mostly. Also, trying to toss my hat in the ring before the rest of the room does.”
Her friend bumps her shoulder as if she’s been saying the same thing all night. Interesting. If her friend has had to reiterate how good she looks, then the confidence oozing off her isn’t related to her appearance, even if it should be.
“That’s a bold assumption considering you’re the only one who’s approached me tonight.”
“Trust me. Plenty of guys wish they’d beaten me over here, but they knew they didn’t stand a chance.” I take a sip of my drink.
“And you do?” She quirks an eyebrow.
“A guy has to have dreams.” I shrug, dialing up the charm. “I’ll definitely be dreaming about that dress.”
Her friend snickers, but she shakes her head. “There are at least ten other people here in a similar dress. It’s hardly impressive.”
“I’d say managing to look that stunning in it, especially when you don’t even want to be here, is impressive.”
“I never said I don’t want to be here.”
“Do you?” My lips twitch as she pretends to consider my question.
“Nope.” Her lips pop at the end of the word, forming an O that heats me from the inside out. I force my eyes away from her lips before I embarrass myself.
Liam steps toward her friend, grinning like a shark. “Hey there. I’m Liam.”
Both girls exchange a look, and a silent conversation happens in front of us. Finally, the smoke show in the emerald green dress turns toward Liam. I swear she could cut glass with the look on her face.
“I don’t fuck hockey players,” she says flatly, no hesitation or mercy in sight.
Liam freezes mid-charm, lips parting in confusion. “Right. Got it,” he stammers.
She saunters away, and Liam’s eyes trail her across the room.
I feel a little sorry for him after dragging him over here. That being said, my mystery girl hasn’t shut me down yet. I shove the ceremony program from the bar top into Liam’s hands, so he can act distracted while I keep shooting my shot.
“Your friend’s… fierce.” I nod in the direction of the redhead, now surrounded by a group of girls across the room.
She smiles, taking a sip of what looks like water. “Avery’s not a fan of athletes, especially hockey players.”
“And you?” I ask.
Her eyes widen, and she shifts on her feet. I find myself focused on her red nails that are toying with the straw of her drink.
“To be determined.” She bites her lip.
“Maybe we can exchange—”
I don’t get to finish before Liam starts waving the program in front of me. “Did you see this shit?”
“Dude.” I glare at him.
He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Um, sorry to interrupt. But seriously, look at this.”
He shoves the program into my hand. I lock eyes with my mystery girl and give her an apologetic smile. She nods as if understanding the pain of over-the-top friends. Considering Avery’s exit a few minutes ago, she probably does.
“They have some fucking nobody winning athlete of the year. Who the hell is Wesley Miller?” Liam points to the center of the program.
Clear as day, it says: 2025 Athlete of the Year – Wesley Miller.
“I’ve never heard of him,” I say. After ten years of playing professional sports in this city, I know most teams and their players.
“The guy doesn’t even sound like an athlete. More like a finance bro.” Liam shakes his head in frustration.
She chuckles into her drink, letting us rant about our broken streak as the recipients of this award. Normally, I’d be as worked up as Liam, but I can’t help grinning at her.
“We brought home the Stanley Cup,” Liam mutters, face scrunched up. “And some random guy gets the nod?”
I try not to wince. To be fair, last year Wyatt won athlete of the year. The year before was Grayson. I was the year before him. I’m sure Liam had his hopes up.
“The Stanley Cup was four years ago,” the girl says smoothly, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s Athlete of the Year, not Athlete of Four Years Ago.”
Ouch. But fair. I swallow my guilt, knowing our team’s setbacks happen to correlate with my personal slump. My team deserves the cup. Knowing that I am a huge reason we keep missing the mark fucking sucks.
“She has a point,” I concede, patting Liam on the back.
“Still, some unknown name getting it doesn’t sit right.”
“Definitely not,” she adds, sympathizing with him. Something is glinting in her eye. “He’s probably a loser with a name like that.”
“Oh, he’s definitely a nobody.” Liam looks around the room as if the guy will have an arrow above his head, pointing him out.
Alright. Enough of this. I still need her number, and my chance of getting it is shrinking.
“Anyway, your name?” I ask, flashing my flirtiest smile.
She sucks on her bottom lip, eyes glinting mischievously. I’d do just about anything to know what she’s thinking right now.
The program announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, signaling the start.
Without answering me, she turns toward her table.
“What’s your name?” I ask again, trying not to yell across the room like a desperate idiot, even if that’s exactly how I feel.
At the last second, she glances back, lips curving enough to drive me insane.
“You’ll see,” she says, leaving me at the bar with my mouth half open, watching her walk away.