Chapter 2
Two
Kaeli
Working for the Boston Bandits is more than what I dreamed of.
After that disastrous interview three years ago, I didn’t think I’d get a chance at the internship. But a couple of weeks later, I was beyond elated when I got the call to come in and start as soon as I could.
I couldn’t believe it. I thought I had lost my only shot at it because someone didn’t pay attention to where he was walking.
On the very first day, Stacy warmly welcomed me and encouraged me to do my best. She stuck her neck out for me in front of Mr. Mullens and convinced him to give me a chance. She expressed that it was because she was impressed with my work and saw my potential to become even better.
I was beyond grateful to her for sticking up for me even when she didn’t know me. And I was so proud that my work spoke for itself. So, basically, it was Stacy’s trust and my capabilities that landed me the job. No thanks to him, obviously.
He was shocked to see me walking in the arena, to say the least. The rush of immense satisfaction upon seeing his expression still fuels me from time to time to prove to him that even after the disaster he had a hand in orchestrating, I’m still standing here, all on my own merit.
Now, I’m a Social Media Manager for the Bandits.
And life couldn’t be better. I smile to myself as I twirl in my seat in my office in the arena, only to be interrupted by the door opening as he barges in with no regard to my privacy or basic human etiquette, it seems. The door slams shut behind him.
Spoke too soon, I guess.
Slumping down in the empty chair across from my table, Ezra crosses his hands behind his head as he keeps his eyes trained on me.
The smile on my face slips as I lean back in my chair at his abrasive attitude. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I deadpan, my tone carrying the lilt of annoyance at him.
All he does is stare at me through his lowered, long lashes. God, he’s so infuriating. I grit my teeth to rein in my anger when the knock on the door reveals Stacy, now the team’s Digital Content Director.
I’m about to stand up when she motions me to keep sitting, taking a seat herself. “What can I do for you, Stacy?” Her presence makes his existence a little more tolerable.
“Well, this guy here had to go and make a perfect goal at last night’s game.” She jabs his shoulder playfully.
He sits straighter in his seat, his hands on his thighs.
“He has actually been scoring some amazing goals right from the season’s start,” she continues.
It’s comical to see how the tips of his ears turn red at her praises. I barely contain myself from making a quip at him.
“So, I was thinking that maybe we can do coverage on him, something to post on our socials and get good press for the team,” she poses the idea. “You know, we need it after everything with Mullens. He was handsy to say the least.”
My body tenses at the mention of his name, but I try not to let it show. Though by the sudden frown on Ezra’s face, I spectacularly fail. He doesn’t know what happened. No one does. Not really.
He tilts his head to the side, his eyes dropping to my lips, which I now realize I’m biting. He looks at me as if trying to gauge the reason for the abrupt shift in me. Not that he’ll find anything.
But his searing gaze still feels like it sees me more than it should. Because until now, no one has noticed how I would turn to stone whenever Mr. Mullens’s name is voiced.
It had to be my damn luck that the guy I hate would be the first one to notice.
I clear my throat to shake myself out of the depressive funk.
“I think that’s a good idea. We can do some short interviews for reels, show Ezra’s daily routine, and some clips of him practicing solo and with the guys.
We can focus on how he takes his responsibility as a captain seriously and inspires the guys,” I spitball the ideas, my fingers itching to jot them down.
Stacy’s dark skin lights up, and she claps her hands.
“That’s settled then. We can meet with the marketing and PR team and make a content calendar.
I’ll leave you two to plan that out.” She’s out the door as fast as she came in, leaving me staring at her retreating back, and leaving me alone with him.
Slumping back in my seat, I shut my eyes and heave a sigh. Goddamn it! I need to learn to hide it better. At this rate, everyone will suspect me of hiding something. And I don’t think I’m ready to share it with anyone. I don’t think I ever will be.
“Want to talk about what’s bugging you?” Ezra’s voice reminds me that he’s still in the room.
My eyes flutter open, and I see concern marring his weirdly perfect features. A little part of me wonders if it’s real or pretend.
I don’t need looks of pity, which I know will be the first to arrive, followed by the gossip mill running behind my back. “None of your business,” I retort, feeling slightly guilty about being rude.
His mouth sets in a straight line as he glares at me. “Right, the great Kaeli Reed doesn’t feel.” His words are like a punch to my gut, hurting me exactly as he intended. And here I thought that his concern might be real.
His words spark an old memory back to life. The anger and hurt I felt then, resurfacing now.
Screw that and screw him for being an asshole. On second thought, I’m not at all feeling guilty.
It’s not the first time someone called me an unfeeling, cold, ruthless bitch, not in so many words. Being a woman is hard. Especially being a woman in sports, where men believe that they are the king of the world, just because they are physiologically superior to most women.
If a woman speaks too much, she’s labeled as an oversharer.
A flirt. Or even unprofessional. If a woman keeps to herself, she’s unfeeling and cold, she has a stick up her ass, she’s a narcissist. Well, joke’s on them because from where I’m sitting, the real narcissist is them, with a short stick between their legs.
Ezra shakes his head as if I’m the one who called him insensitive and grumbles, “Just let me know what you want me to do and when you want me to do it.” With one last lingering look and a slight shake of his head, he takes his leave, too.
And for some reason, that lonely feeling creeps in at his exit.
* * *
The boys are all strapped and padded as they head to the ice for a scrimmage.
While waiting for coach James McCoy, they decide to goof around where I’m standing in the lower bowl with my intern.
Since Stacy has given me free rein over the content, I thought that I could get a few behind-the-scenes clips in and teach some things to the intern, Jodi, too.
I’m explaining to her which camera settings and angles are best to get good quality shots when a heavily padded arm slides over my shoulder.
My gaze slides to the owner of it and finds a grinning Sebastian. I return his cheeky smile.
“Stop bothering the ladies, Seb,” Oliver snickers as he walks in with the other guys. “They’re the only ones who actually work around here, unlike your lazy ass.”
Seb pulls me closer. “Lili doesn’t mind me,” he smirks, giving me a nickname I might not hate.
The guys chuckle at his overconfidence. His gaze flits to Jodi beside me, who’s taking in the scene quietly.
“You don’t mind me either, do you, querida?
” His Spanish endearment, along with the following wink, makes Jodi’s face flush.
Knowing she’s shy, I divert his attention from her. “Stop flirting with my intern.” I jab him in the stomach.
His faux expression of pain causes everyone to rumble in laughter. “You wound me, Lili. It was you I was flirting with.”
A smile at his antics makes a home on my face. God! He’s too charming for his own good. If he weren’t three years younger than me, I might’ve gone for him. But at twenty-four, I feel older in ways that have nothing to do with age.
I feel an intense gaze locked on me, making awareness trickle down my spine. I swivel my head only to find Ezra shooting daggers at Seb and me.
My brows furrow at him. What is his problem? Is he ever not scowling?
Choosing to ignore him, I turn my eyes back on Seb and glide out of his hold.
Patting on his chest, I make my last move.
“Well, buddy, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but if you believe this is flirting, then you might need a lesson or two in it,” I smirk as all the other guys cough to hide their chuckle, but end up laughing at Seb all the same.
“Teach me, Lili. I swear I’ll be a good boy for you.” He whispers. His innuendo is not lost on anybody, my eyes squinting at his cheekiness.
Before I can say anything else, a large hand grabs his shoulder and takes him away. “Enough fucking around. Let’s practice,” Ezra reprimands Seb with a scowl on his face.
Seb is about to say something when Noah elbows him and gives him a subtle shake of his head. What was that about?
Ezra directs his glare at me. “Stop distracting my boys, intern,” he grunts. Mocking me, knowing full well I’m not an intern.
Oh, he didn’t just say that. Before I can shut this asshole up with the heel of my stilettos, preferably lodged in his throat, Noah intervenes, “Yeah, that’s enough. Let’s go, Ezra.” Noah drags him away, saving his friend from a very painful and imminent death.
The coach arrives and demands that the players get into position. They give it their hundred percent, losing themselves in the rush of the game, while Jodi and I get in as many good shots of these sweaty men as possible.
Yet, I still can’t help but mull over the asshole’s words, my insecurity creeping in. They hit too close to home. He doesn’t even realize the effect his words have on me.
It’s been twice in one day now when I’ve had to relive some of the worst moments of my life, all because people don’t think before they speak.
It’s me who needs a fucking distraction.