Chapter 31 - Josie
Josie
Was it my imagination, or did Grayson keep glancing over at me? It was tough to tell because I was sitting right behind the team bench. He might have been looking at his coach or teammates.
But after the second goal, I was certain.
That lusty smile was for me, and me alone.
I still didn’t consider myself a hockey fan, but it was impossible not to be swept up in the excitement of the game. The Surge were representing San Antonio, my city. We were outsiders here.
And I cared deeply about the star player.
The rest of the game wasn’t even close. The Surge took a four-goal lead going into the third period, then began playing defensively to preserve the lead.
The Oilers got desperate with one minute left in the game, and that made them sloppy.
A player on the Surge stole the puck and passed it across the rink to Grayson, who had an open look at the goal.
He dribbled the puck back and forth, then fired it through the goaltender’s legs.
When a player scored three goals in a game, it was called a “hat trick.” I had no idea why, but it was a somewhat rare feat; I hadn’t seen one at the Frost Bank Center all season.
Hats began flying through the air, thrown by the Surge fans in the arena and even some of the Oilers fans who appreciated the accomplishment.
Hats rained down on the rink until I could barely see the ice beneath.
Arena employees had to go out on the ice to clean it all up, delaying the end of the game. But the horn blared soon after that, signaling the end of the first game of the series.
The Surge had won, five to zero.
And the man at the center of it all, Grayson Steele, kept smiling directly at me.
When I got back to the hotel, I went straight to the lobby bar for a celebratory beer. The bar was shaped like a donut in the middle of the room, and I positioned myself on the side facing the TVs so I could watch all the post-game coverage.
Grayson was sitting in front of a bouquet of microphones. His hair was damp from the shower, and he was wearing blue shorts and a Surge T-shirt while answering questions from reporters.
“I can’t explain it. I got in a groove out there.
That happens sometimes, you know?” He grinned weakly.
“I like to think it happens more when we’re well-prepared.
I spent a lot of time over the last week looking at game tape, trying to figure out the holes in this Oilers defense. I guess it paid off.”
The bartender placed my beer in front of me and glanced at the TV. “The Surge are good. If they can get past my Oilers, I wouldn’t be surprised if they make it to the finals.”
I raised my beer. “Here’s hoping.”
I nursed my beer while reviewing the metrics on my TikTok channel, then ordered another.
By the time it arrived, the Surge players were walking through the lobby to the elevators, laughing and shouting.
There was a lot of tension in the air yesterday, but the victory had changed the mood completely.
“First round’s on me!” one player announced.
“The team’s paying for everything, jackass,” another guy replied.
“Exactly! It’s the one time I can be generous on a rookie’s salary!”
“You heard the man. Drinks are on Mason!”
Half a dozen players came into the bar and gathered around a booth in the corner.
Grayson was unmistakable, standing a few inches taller than the others, and with broad shoulders that I would recognize anywhere.
I was sitting on the other side of the bar from them, mostly hidden by the circular wall of liquor bottles in the center.
I hunched over my beer and tried not to be seen. I remembered the way they’d laughed when they saw me in the lobby yesterday, and how defensively Grayson had reacted. If I could finish my beer and sneak out without them noticing, that would be great.
But a minute later, one of the players left the booth to use the bathroom—and he passed right by me.
“Oh, shit. You’re that girl. The one Grayson’s with. Are you drinking alone?”
“Yeah, but I’m about to go back to my room…”
“Fuck that! Come drink with us.”
Before I could protest, he grabbed my beer and waved me toward the booth. “Hey guys! Look who I found!”
I followed him over to the rest of the team, wincing as I prepared to be teased and taunted.
“JOSIE!” the six players shouted in unison.
Grayson smiled broadly at me. “Were you drinking alone?”
“Celebrating the win,” I said, which drew more shouts and claps.
“We’ve decided you’re Grayson’s good luck charm,” another player said. “You’re single-handedly responsible for his hat trick today.”
Grayson leaned back in his chair and spread his arms. “Hey, I think I deserve some of the credit.”
“To Josie,” said rookie Mason Calder. “The best fake girlfriend on the Surge!”
“Stick around for a drink?” Grayson asked me.
Well, shoot. How could I say no to that?
The bartender delivered several pitchers of beer. The tall guy who had recognized me at the bar ended up being Hunter Callahan, the backup goaltender. He filled my glass up first.
They sat around the booth and discussed the game—recapping every fiercely-battled moment of it.
They must have been drinking in the locker room, because they already seemed drunk after just one beer.
Maybe they were drunk on victory. Even as a spectator, I felt heady from the win, and I didn’t even like hockey.
More Surge players trickled into the bar to join us. Rather than acting surprised that I was drinking with them, each player acted downright happy to see me.
After two more beers, I felt like a member of the team.
I never saw it happen, but suddenly I realized Grayson’s arm was stretched out across the back of my chair. I scooched my chair closer and leaned into him. It felt right. And nobody acted like it was a big deal.
“My wife loves your channel,” one player told me. “I swear she’s probably bought a thousand bucks worth of makeup in the past week.”
“Tell her thank you for me!” I replied, which drew more laughs. I pointed at the rest of them. “And tell your girlfriends and wives to buy their makeup from the links on my channel. A girl has to eat.”
“The food’s free here!” Mason told me. “Be sure to get your money’s worth!”
“Oh, I am. I ordered filet and salmon from room service last night.”
While everyone laughed at that, I got up to pee. I couldn’t stop smiling; it was crazy how much things could change in just twenty-four hours.
I exited the bathroom and ran right into Grayson.
“Fuck, sorry,” I said.
“I wasn’t following you, I swear.” He pointed to his shirt. “Mason’s drunk. He spilled beer all over me.”
I touched the damp spot on his chest, feeling the muscle underneath. “Now here’s the real steel wall,” I joked, pressing my fingertips against the fabric.
He stared down at me, eyes flicking to my lips.
“Shit,” I said, pulling my fingers away. “Sorry. I’ve had a lot of beer. I know you said you wanted some space until the series was over.”
I tried to move past him, but he blocked my way. “Josie…” he said.
I held my breath. “Grayson?”
“I…” He searched for the words. “I wanted to tell you…”
“You don’t have to—” I began.
He took my head in both of his hands and kissed me.