14. Chapter Fourteen #2
I pressed my lips together, considering my next move.
Part of me wanted to point out how his game improved when he stopped trying to be Landon 2.
0. But dropping strategy advice during a Ping-Pong match?
No thanks. Some battles weren’t worth fighting, and Charlie’s chip on his shoulder could stay right where it was.
My serve floated across the net in a perfect arch. Charlie might resent living in Shep’s shadow, but he wasn’t the only one fighting to prove they belonged.
I’d earn the respect of this team, even if it came down to stupid Ping-Pong battles.
The overhead lights of the player lounge cast harsh shadows across the Ping-Pong table. The familiar thwack of paddles hitting plastic filled the air, punctuated by the distant clatter of weights from the training room next door.
AB proved to be more than just a pretty face. Charlie’s scowl deepened with every point we scored.
The game moved fast. Charlie’s death grip on his paddle unrelenting and doing him no favors. Novak pulled his weight, but we still crushed them in the end.
As if there’d been any doubt.
“That’s game point!” I announced, maybe a touch too gleefully. “This means I choose the playlist tomorrow night, right?”
“Forget the playlist,” Novak declared. “You’re coming next month. And you’re on my team.”
I paused mid-victory spin. “Is this about the water park challenge again? You already tried to recruit me on the plane.”
“Team tradition.” AB stretched his long frame, his shirt rising to flash a glimpse of tanned abdominals.
I blinked, refocused on the paddle he wiggled in my direction. Working with the guys at Arvon should have prepared me for this. Trained me to handle good-looking, highly competitive athletes. But the difference between college boys and NHL men hit different. Way different.
“Though last year got a little out of hand with the polar plunge,” AB continued. “Who suggested that disaster anyway?”
“That was Taft’s brilliant idea.” Novak pointed his paddle at his teammate. “This year we’ve got a whole new challenge planned. Everyone comes—players, coaches, significant others.”
The invitation spread through my chest like warm honey. Memories of pizza-fueled video sessions with the Arvon staff bubbled up—late nights analyzing plays, sharing popcorn and dreams, back when I believed I belonged. Before Cale crushed that illusion.
But hanging back, hiding behind my sunshine smile and professional boundaries—when would that end? Maybe jumping into freezing water with a bunch of overgrown boys was exactly the kind of reset I needed.
“Count me in.” I flicked the paddle toward Charlie, satisfaction curling through me when he snatched it mid-air with a scowl. “But right now, duty calls. Those game tapes won’t analyze themselves.”
Back in my office, I melted into my chair. The Ping-Pong match had cleared my head, but new thoughts crowded in, demanding a second opinion. A friend’s opinion. A Nat opinion.
The wall clock showed 2 PM. Perfect.
I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text to my bestie: Free for coffee? Need your brain.
Nat’s response flashed instantly: Silo in 20. Bring drama.
Twenty minutes later, I pushed through the coffee shop’s heavy wooden door. The familiar scent of roasting beans wrapped around me like a hug. Nat already occupied our usual table, two steaming mugs waiting.
“Look who escaped the hockey cave.” She pushed my mug closer. “What crisis has you abandoning all those pretty boys during business hours?”
I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic, breathing in dark roast courage. “One of the players invited me to an annual winter water park thing.”
“And this warrants an emergency coffee summit because…?”
“Because it’s a social thing. A whole team thing. With plus ones and everything.” I took a fortifying sip; the coffee scalded my tongue. “And there might be a situation. With another player.”
Nat’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up. “Define situation.”
“There may have been a kiss. Or two.” Heat crawled up my neck, burned my cheeks. I hid behind another sip of coffee. “In a completely professional setting.”
“Ah yes, those ‘completely professional setting’ kisses.” Nat’s spoon clinked against her mug. “They’ll get you every time. Does this player have a name?”
“Shepherd Landon.”
“The golden boy himself?” Nat whistled low. “Honey, that’s not a situation. That’s the kind of trouble most girls dream about.”
“Or career suicide.” I slumped forward, elbow sprawled on the table alongside my mug. “This is the Renegades we’re talking about. This isn’t Arvon. If this goes sideways…”
“He’s not Cale.” Nat’s hand covered mine. “And you’re not that bright-eyed rookie anymore.”
“No, now I’ve got even more to lose.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “This isn’t some college program. This is the NHL. And I’ve got more than a little attention on me already. People waiting for me to fail…”
“If it goes wrong, you’ll handle it. Like you’ve already proven you can.” She reached across the table to squeeze my fingers. “But hiding behind your work isn’t living, Mer. When’s the last time you did something just for fun?”
“I have fun!”
“Analyzing game tape doesn’t count.”
I opened my mouth, but she held up her mug to cut me off. “Neither does collecting plants.”
I traced the rim of my cup, remembering the spark in Shep’s eyes during our Ping-Pong match.
The playful competition that had morphed into something electric.
The way his body had caged me against that window in the Thunder’s video room, the solid wall of his chest pressing against me, all that controlled power held carefully in check.
His mouth claiming mine, gentle at first, then demanding.
Heat pooled low in my belly at the memory of his fingers sliding over my skin. Even now, days later, my lips tingled at the thought of his touch.
I took a steadying breath. “Maybe the water park thing wouldn’t be awful.”
“That’s the spirit now.” Nat’s smile turned wicked. “And just think of the research opportunities. Studying the athletic form in the wild.”
“You’re impossible.” A laugh bubbled up despite my best efforts. “And they’ll be in wetsuits, dork. It’s winter. Be my plus one?”
“Like you have to ask.” Her expression softened. “Just… don’t let Cale’s ghost make your decisions. You deserve better than that.”
“What an irresponsible friend. Encouraging me to break a literal contract clause. I signed on that dotted line—no fraternization with players.” My fingers traced the coffee mug’s rim. “Not to mention every professional boundary I’ve worked so hard to build.”
Nat’s laugh wrapped around me. “You don’t come to me for responsible advice, Merri Wylie. You come for permission to do what you already want to do.”
She wasn’t wrong.
We drifted into safer waters then. Nat’s epic list of workplace deal-breakers, my latest attempt at Mom’s waffle recipe. Simple things that had nothing to do with hockey players or professional boundaries or kisses that turned my world sideways.
Walking back to the arena, my steps felt lighter. Maybe Nat had a point. Maybe it was time to stop letting Cale’s ghost dictate my future. Maybe it was time to trust my own judgment instead of running scared from old wounds.