Chapter 4
Connor
Connor tried to maintain a positive attitude as he took in his surroundings. The conference room was very… gray. The entire building felt sterile; maybe people existed here, but their existence was sad. He hated these cookie-cutter corporate office buildings.
He tugged at his collar. If this helped him play better, he would do it.
The soaked woman had told Jack to finish cleaning, but as soon as she had disappeared, the boy abandoned the task.
They had found her wet, food caked on her dress, and instructing a disrespectful young man.
She must be having a bad day. He gathered the half-full cups from the dirty table, dumping them into a sink across the room and tossing the empties in the overflowing trash bin.
Seeing him pitch in, Hazy and Lover got up to help. Hazy pulled the trash bag from the can and tied it closed, finding a new bag at the bottom of the bin and replacing it. He placed the full one by the door.
Lover found a bottle of cleaner and sprayed the tables, Connor following behind him with paper towels. Cleaning silently was the most in sync they had ever been. Connor rolled his eyes at the revelation.
“Oh, my God,” a feminine voice interrupted their work. “You do not have to do any of that.”
“It’s no problem,” Lover said, “we weren’t busy.”
An involuntary slow grin crept up Connor’s face. The woman before him had transformed. He let himself give her a once-over. Before, she had been dripping wet, her bra visible through the thin fabric of her dress, her hair matted to her face.
She had removed her smudged makeup and pulled her hair back, revealing high cheekbones smattered with freckles.
A few dark curls had fallen free from her hair band and framed her face.
Her ruined dress was gone, a Seattle Freeze shirt and leggings taking its place.
He wouldn’t mind seeing the other side of those leggings and wished it wouldn’t be inappropriate to ask her to do a spin for him.
He wasn’t the only one to notice. “Hey! Are you a Freeze fan?” Hazy asked.
The woman fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve. She examined her shirt and shrugged a shoulder. “My ex is big into hockey.”
Lover stepped closer to her, holding his hand out for her to shake. “I’m Connor Valentine,” he told her.
She hesitated for a few beats before taking the offered handshake. When she released his hand, she said, “You can all take a seat. I’ll get the supplies out.”
They followed her order. Connor watched her inch her way around the perimeter of the room, her back always facing the wall. He frowned, unsure how they had made her uncomfortable already.
Hazy must have been thinking the same because he said, “Are you okay? If you’re uncomfortable, we can go.”
She looked to the ceiling, hid her face with her hands, and groaned.
“No, it’s nothing you did. I’m so unprepared. I don’t do well when I’m unprepared.”
She kept her hands over her face, and Connor watched her chest rise and fall in several slow, deep breaths before she lowered them. Then, like ripping off a band-aid, she turned on her heel. She rummaged through a chest of drawers on the other side of the room, picking out an armload of supplies.
Connor took the opportunity to appreciate his granted wish. Her ass was as spectacular in those leggings as he’d guessed.
Fuck that’s inappropriate. She’s working. Leave the poor woman alone.
He forced his eyes away from her altogether, instead watching the clock above the door. It had been ten minutes. They hadn’t even started their activity, but he’d been trapped in the lackluster building for an eternity.
Hazy backhanding Connor’s arm brought attention to the name written across the woman’s back. His smug grin couldn’t be helped.
“You said you weren’t a hockey fan, huh?” he asked.
“No.” She didn’t elaborate further.
“No what?” Lover inserted himself into the conversation. “You aren’t a fan, or you didn’t say that?”
She dropped her armload on the table in front of them. “No, I didn’t say that.”
“So you are a fan?” Hazy asked.
She met Hazy’s eyes and nodded once, handing him a giant bag of popsicle sticks. To Lover, she slid a large roll of tape. Not once did her attention slip to Connor.
They were asking a lot of questions, but Connor couldn’t help his curiosity. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”
Her attention flickered to him. He didn’t get the chance to bask in it before she moved on. He slumped in his seat, unsure why he cared.
“Oh shit,” she said, directing it toward Lover. “Sorry, I’m Daisy.”
“I’m Connor Greene,” he offered, struggling not to fidget. Fans who wore his name or jersey always expected something from him. A picture, or hug, or autograph.
Hazy offered his name as well. “And I’m Connor Hale.”
Daisy sat across from them and thumbed through a stack of papers.
“I know. And I have a pretty good idea of why the three of you are here. So let’s get started.”
She gave them instructions to build a bridge with the popsicle sticks and tape she had provided. At the end they would test the strength of their bridge. Connor didn’t know how it would help him play better, but nothing else had worked, so he dove right in.
Lover, who had done this before, instructed him to construct a bunch of triangles with the sticks, explaining that triangles were the strongest shape. Hazy and Lover sketched a bridge design while Connor taped together triangles.
Daisy oversaw their progress, and when they had agreed on a design and were at the building stage, she held up a sheet of paper. She seemed to relax when the attention shifted from her.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ve got a list of questions to help you get to know each other. We’ll start easy. What is your favorite color?”
“Blue,” all three Connors said in unison. When an NHL team paid your bills, your favorite color was whatever they told you.
Daisy rolled her eyes. “Typical,” she muttered, but Connor could swear the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Okay. You love blue. That’s something you have in common… Are you a cat person or a dog person?”
“Both,” Lover said.
Hazy hesitated, rubbing his forehead. “Dogs. Definitely dogs. Cats are mean.”
Daisy laughed. “Maybe they don’t like you.”
Hazy gasped in horror. “That sounds like a them problem. I’m a fucking delight.”
Daisy’s eyebrows flew to her hairline as she stared him down. “I’m sure you are.”
Connor chuckled, and she blessed him with half a second of eye contact before returning her attention to her paper. “And you, Greene?”
“Dogs.” He handed Lover another triangle.
“I don’t know, man,” Lover butted in, “you give off big cat energy.”
“That’s rude to say,” he told the rookie. The fake glare he paired with his words had Lover looking ready to crawl under the table and hide. “Jesus,” Connor said. “I’m kidding.” A joke should not have put his linemate on edge. They needed to fix their relationship.
“Okay,” Hazy dragged out the word. He held two popsicle stick triangles together while Lover taped them. “Do you have anything deeper, Daisy?”
Daisy flipped a few pages. “Here’s a fun one. Everyone tell us an embarrassing story.”
“I don’t get embarrassed.” Hazy said.
“Oh, whatever.” Lover called him out. “You asked for a deeper question. You answer it.”
Hazy looked to the ceiling, thinking. “Fine. I once walked into a telephone pole while staring at a cute girl.”
Connor chuckled. “Hey man, we’ve all been there. As a kid, I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I bumped into a mannequin. I apologized like ten times before I realized it wasn’t a real person.”
Lover grinned at them. “I have not walked into random objects. But I did pee my pants at a sleepover in fifth grade. That was horrible. And my friend’s older sister was so pretty. I’ve never been more mortified.”
The Connors laughed at their own misfortune, and Hazy roped Daisy into the conversation. “C’mon Daisy, now you know one of our embarrassing stories, tell us one of yours!”
Daisy snickered. “Have you witnessed the past hour? What in this whole scenario wasn’t embarrassing? I don’t need to tell you a story; you lived it with me.”
Hazy and Lover laughed along with her, but Connor frowned. She shouldn’t feel embarrassed. Maybe on their next visit they could make her more at ease.