Chapter Nineteen #2
“It’s fine that Mikael doesn’t know shit about air hockey, honestly,” Leo interjects, clearly trying to help move this along. His lingering glance my way confirms it. “We could use the extra practice when he loses.”
“Speak for yourself, Captain,” Callum counters, but it’s paired with a fondness and a hair ruffling that Leo doesn’t seem to entirely loathe.
Camaraderie. Now we’re getting somewhere.
As we take our positions across from each other, Mikael’s expression is utterly stoic. It takes me all of two seconds to figure out how I’ll beat him.
Friendliness. The same way I thwart Eric. Frankly, Mikael would also thrive as a rude AGM when he retires from playing. They’re cut from the same cloth.
I hinge at the waist and stare him down. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
“First to ten wins.” The puck clinks when I drop it on the table. “You have a sister, don’t you?”
“As far as these assholes know? No.”
“Right, but in reality?” My puck slides in his goal box. One point to me.
He glares at the hole he’s supposed to be guarding as if it betrayed him. “Yes. I have a sister. Emilia.”
“Emilia Bergstrom,” I say. “That’s a pretty name.”
“We have different last names. Different dads.”
Callum juts out his bottom lip. “Interesting. And how old is—”
“No fucking chance,” Mikael growls. “I’ll chop your dick off.”
I stifle a laugh. “You’re protective. I like that about you.”
“Because he, being a man-whore, thinks everyone else is a man-whore,” Callum explains.
“You’re the one asking for her age.”
Callum lifts his hands. “Just being polite.”
Right. Anyway. “Any brothers?”
“A few—shit.” He huffs as I sink my second goal.
“Attagirl!” Vivi yells. “Two-nil.”
“Get your head in the game, Bergstrom,” Gabriel gripes. “I want to sleep in tomorrow.”
“As if you could play any better.”
The cheering (and light harassment) from his teammates only makes Mikael worse the longer the game goes on. For being so lethal on the ice, he’s shockingly bad at this.
I almost feel guilty beating him so handily.
Vivi whoops and hollers, her curls bouncing as she jumps up and down. Bless her, she acts like I’ve done something truly impressive here. My cheeks warm as a few of the guys join in.
Mikael throws a look of disgust at Callum and Leo for supporting me.
“Credit where credit is due.” Callum gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Good on ya, Coach.”
“Thank you.” I turn off the table and stretch my arms. “Man, that took it out of me. I think I’d like to sleep in tomorrow. Coach, what do you think?”
Vivi’s eyes glean with mischief.
This is how Plan B—the fun plan—ends: with them getting time off, anyway.
“I think the last thing I want to see tomorrow at eight thirty a.m.”—she looks left and right, batting her lashes—“is the face of a hockey player.”
Mikael gapes at me. “But I lost.”
I wave my hand. “Guess I changed my mind about the stakes. I’d like you guys to take the morning off anyway. Just don’t be late for Cruz and Dom.”
I’ve never seen them so quiet.
“Unless you object?”
They yell variations of no in unison.
“Then I’ll see you Wednesday.” I catch Leo’s grin out of the corner of my eye and put it in my pocket for a rainy day. “You’re dismissed.”
Celebrations erupt. You’d think I cut them each a bonus check or served them their favorite meal on a silver platter for how excited they are.
Vivi and I grab our keys and bags from the office as the men split off into the locker room to do the same.
When we emerge to funnel toward the exit, we fall into step behind Callum, Nic, Leo, and Ivan.
They’re chatting animatedly as though some of them didn’t act like the world’s crankiest babies all morning.
I’ve never seen such a radical shift in mood, and all it took is these dudes getting a few hours of free time in the heat of the season.
Now I just have to pray this vibe follows them into the next game.
Callum’s cackle rings loudly through the hallway at whatever those four are discussing as they reach the door.
Vivi nudges me with her elbow, her voice low and warm. “Congrats, Sadie. You day-offed them into friendship. At least temporarily.”
I fight a smile. This right here is the good stuff—the reminders that the choices I make, big and small, can have an impact. The tension that crept into my limbs watching the men struggle on the ice has mostly melted away. “Maybe so.”
“What did Cal say?” she muses. “Credit where credit is due.”
I elbow her back. “You’re the one who chose Plan B. Now, here’s a random question I can’t stop thinking about for some reason: what meal would you most like served to you on a silver platter right now?”
“Easy. Chicken and waffles smothered in pure maple syrup. As in, straight from the tree. None of that imitation stuff. You?”
“A perfectly executed black bean burger with good sauce and a soft bun. And a side of French onion soup.”
“Ooh, unexpected. I thought for sure you’d say a lobster roll from that diner you love.”
“That, too.” She pauses to hold the door for me. A cold gust of wind whips inside. “Put a roll on the side.”
We step outside. The parking lot is painted in late afternoon sunlight. The golden hues make it look warmer than it feels.
My gaze stalls on the four men now standing still, blocking the path to my and Vivi’s designated parking spaces. Their broad backs create a wall.
“Why are they just standing there?” Vivi asks. “It’s not like you’ve got a Ferrari to ogle, no offense.”
Leo turns around.
The intensity of his gaze freezes me in my tracks.
I can’t tell if he’s stricken or enraged, but I can tell from his clenched fists and the way he takes a step closer and then stops that he’s fighting the urge to approach me—to show too much familiarity in front of everyone.
And when I glimpse what’s on their other side, I understand why, and immediately wish that he could.