Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Mom: How was your first game as the new social media gal?
Natalie: So great!!!
What an asshole. I can’t believe he’s the team captain. Who wants that guy leading anything?
I blow out of the locker room and storm through the hockey arena—I’ll never accidentally call it a rink again—ignoring everyone until I make it to the public relations office. Well, “office” is a generous term. It was probably a custodial closet at some point in its drab, windowless life, but at least it’s private.
Slamming the door behind me, I rest my back against the smooth wood and take deep breaths.The blank cinder block walls and bare desk stare back at me.
You want this job, I remind myself. You need this job.
My initiative the other day impressed Kayla Barnes, the social media director. She showed me some photos, had me create sample captions, and voila, she gave me the job on the spot. I don’t know anything about hockey, but I figured I knew enough about social media from my blog to figure it out.
But I didn’t factor Hunter Thompson into the equation.
Why did I let him get to me? Normally no one makes me lose my cool. I’ve worked in food service for years—it’s not like this is the first time I’ve encountered a jerk. But something about him—his incredible ice-blue eyes, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he towered above me and made me feel petite—of course I’d notice him.
I don’t have a lot of dating experience, but I have eyes. I know what I like. And yeah, he’s awfully nice to look at. My palms got sweaty, and my heart beat a little faster when he met my gaze.
And then he opened his mouth and proved that he was a massive, egotistical jerk. Bad attitudes are as ugly as it gets. I should have known.
Why am I disappointed about that? It’s not like I have any interest in these guys. I’m busy and they are off limits.
A knock sounds at the door behind me, and I spring away.
Clearing my throat, I lean against the desk and force a cheery note into my voice. “Come in!”
Tyler pops his head in, a warm smile on his face. He’s Ms. Barnes’s assistant and has been training me this week. His hazel eyes twinkle.
“So, how did it go?”
I blow out a breath. “Good, I think?”
“Was this your first hockey game?”
I nod. “My first anything game!”
Stepping into my office, he waves a finger, circling my face. “You’re flushed. You liked it!”
I laugh because he’s right. Game day was a thrilling mix of excitement and nerves—not what I expected. And if I can just focus on that instead of Hunter’s glowering eyes and refusal to help, I’ll be golden.
“I did! I was surprised by how fast they moved. It took so much focus. I’m not out there playing, but somehow the team’s emotions were contagious.”
Tyler nods. “It’s a rush, isn’t it? Do you have questions before we craft the social media message together? About the rules of the game, how to interact with the players?”
“I’m definitely going to read up on some calls, but I like a challenge.” I want to catch on fast and be a good employee. Plus, I can’t resist a puzzle. I didn’t expect today to be anything other than a job. It’s a pleasant surprise to find I like it.
“And the players?” he asks again, raising a brow.
I don’t want to complain, and I certainly don’t want to cause problems at work. But Tyler has done this before, and he knows the team. Maybe he has some insights that could help. Hunter is the captain, and I’m going to have to deal with him again. I need some advice.
“This is my first team experience.” I choose my words with care. “So maybe it was na?ve of me to think these guys would be like the brothers I’ve never had.”
Tyler laughs and runs a hand through his dark hair. “Not na?ve. Some of them can be exactly like that. And the others… well, they’ll grow on you with time, I hope. Did anyone give you problems?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to throw Hunter under the bus. And really, the rest of the team was okay. I won’t let one bad apple spoil the experience for me.
So I smile. “The captain was a little grumpy, but I think I can win him over. No problems here!”
Tyler narrows his eyes. “If he gives you trouble, please let me know. We don’t stand for harassment in this organization.”
Harassment is too strong of a word. I know Hunter’s type. I’ve encountered tons of guys like him in my business classes over the years. Absolutely gorgeous on the outside but only skin deep.
“No, nothing like that.” Sucking in, I squeeze past the old wooden desk and pat the laptop on it. “Should we get to work?”
“Sure.” Tyler hovers as I upload my pictures and pull up the team’s socials.
“Oh, that’s a great shot.” He points to an image of Cooper, passing the puck to one of the other players. I don’t know all their names yet, but I remember Cooper. He was kind to me in the locker room after the game.
“Thanks. I was hoping we could use this one.”
“Go for it.”
Humming, he watches as I work, then nods his approval. “You’re doing great work. Let me know if you have questions or need help with anything.”
I wave at him as he leaves. All things considered, it went well today. Aside from one jackass in the locker room. And now I’ve seen enough of Hunter to keep me far away from him. I won’t let him upset my equilibrium again. If I have to talk to him, I will be professional, get what I need, get paid, and get out.
That’s decided. Closing my laptop, I scootch past the desk and latch the door behind me. My phone buzzes as I’m walking through the maze of hallways, and I stop to check it.
Mom: Can you grab beer-battered fish from O’Bryans for your dad on your way home? He hasn’t eaten anything today and says it sounds good.
Natalie: Of course!
I don’t offer to get anything for her because we can’t afford it. But if something finally sounds good to my dad, I’ll splurge. His appetite is pretty bad. Because of his dialysis, he has food restrictions and limits on his water intake. His kidneys don’t process liquids like they’re supposed to—so things like soup, ice cream, soda, and beer are off the table. He doesn’t complain, but it really sucks. Beer-battered fish is as close as he gets to alcohol these days.
As I walk out of the building, I call in the order. My mom and I share our beat-up Toyota Corolla, but she was home before I left for the game tonight.Which means I have my own wheels and don’t have to navigate the buses.
Game night traffic makes it a fifteen-minute drive from this side of campus to O’Bryan’s, a popular Irish pub. I push through the throng of Harrison students dancing and drinking until I reach the bar.
After giving my name to the bartender, I wait, letting my eyes scan the dim interior, dotted with Guinness adverts and green, white, and orange tri-colored flags. Bagpipes blare, and I spot a guy from the locker room earlier. His eyes light up as he walks over to me.
“Natalie, right?” he asks, and I nod. “Did you come to party with us?”
I smile at his invitation, then shake my head. “I wish. Just picking up food.”
“Next time?”His eyes are hopeful, and I bite my lip.
It’s sweet of him, but during my interview with her, Mrs. Barnes stressed maintaining a professional relationship with the players. No dating and no drama. Not to mention—going out is expensive. Cover charges, drinks, Ubers. Plus, my schedule rarely allows it.
But he doesn’t need to know that. Since the captain is definitely not my biggest fan, I want to keep the other players on my good side. I widen my smile and toss my hair. “Sounds like fun!”
With a wink, he moves away, and I’m hit with a pang of jealousy. What would it be like to hang at a bar with cute guys? Dance, drink, and not have any worries beyond if my outfit looks good?
I glance down at my Harrison polo and khakis. It does not.
My food is ready in a few minutes. After counting out exact change plus a modest tip, I weave back through the crowd at the bar. The hockey player and the others with him wave at me as I exit, and I grin back. At least Hunter is an anomaly.
There’s a silver BMW parked right next to my car, two people leaning against it. They are so engrossed in their conversation that they don’t notice me, and honestly, I don’t mean to eavesdrop. But they gain volume as I get closer.
Then I recognize that deep, gravelly voice. If it belonged to anyone else, I’d let it wash over me like water in a warm bath. Let it heat me up from the inside out. But it’s the same voice that smarted off to me in the locker room. I stiffen and fumble for my keys.
“Look, Trisha,” Hunter says. “I don’t care what you need. I don’t owe you anything.”
“I’m not asking for much.” The girl flips her hair. I can’t tell what color it is in the low light of the parking lot, but I’m guessing blonde because of the way it gleams. “It’s just a loan, and you have plenty. You won’t miss it.”
He clenches his jaw, and I aim to put the key in the lock and miss. Okay, maybe I’m officially listening now, but what if this girl needs help?
Hunter shakes his head, and she twines herself around him. Her voice takes on a wheedling note, like Jace when he’s trying to get his way.
“Come on. I’ll pay you back. It’s just a couple thousand dollars. No big deal.”
“I’m not doing anything for you.” Face impassive, Hunter pries her off, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips.
His eyes fly to mine, widening as he surveys me and then narrowing in a glare in the next heartbeat.
“You. Are you following me?” He takes a step toward me, showcasing his Nikes, and I pop a hand on my hip.
“Dream on, Mr. Captain. Selfish jerks aren’t my type.”
The girl with him huffs a laugh. “See, you’re being selfish. Even strangers agree.”
“Strangers should butt out and mind their own business,” he says, addressing his remarks to me. If his crystal blue eyes were lasers, I’d be dead on the spot.
As it is, I shrug and finally get my car door open. Shunning Hunter, I speak to Trisha. “Based on what I’ve seen, Mr. Captain needs to learn to focus on the good in others and be more positive. You deserve better.”
I slide behind the wheel, sitting my takeout bag on the passenger seat and ignore the rest of their bickering until my door closes and blocks the sound.
Arms crossed over his massive chest, the streetlamp glints off his expensive smartwatch. Hunter glares at me through the windshield as I throw my car in reverse and back out of my space. I resist the urge to stick out my tongue or flip him off, but god, what an ass.
It’s okay if he’s not comfortable lending someone money—maybe he has nothing left after he spent it on his BMW, watch, and expensive shoes. But what really shocked me was his tone. He was so cold to her. He could have said no to Trisha without being mean.
Why did I let him get to me again? I’m usually so good at ignoring negative people and letting their pessimism roll off my back. But he’s a burr under my skin, instantly irritating me. I don’t have time to deal with his type.
Driving my beat-up car to my tiny home on the wrong side of the tracks, I bite my lip. I’ll do this job, and I’ll do it well, but I’m steering clear of Hunter Thompson. He’s the last person I want in my life.