Page 19 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

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After the stress of this morning’s rehearsal and having to endure Sophie’s endless criticism when I’m trying my best, the last thing I want to do is spend the afternoon practicingagainin the theater with Nigel and Nasty, I mean Nancy, watching and filming every little misstep I make.

I was able to get the basic steps down in our morning practice, but it took so long I didn’t get any ice time to decompress before this afternoon’s practice. I need to be on the ice. It’s where I can let everything go. If I don’t get it, I’m all keyed up and growly. We’re filming where she starts “teaching” me the dance. That’s why we busted our asses last night and this morning—so it would look like I was picking up the steps faster. Best foot forward and all that bullshit. I want to be in skates and slapping a puck into the net. Not talking about hip movements and flowy arms.

“Flirt!” Nancy snaps, waving her clipboard. “Sophie, bat those lashes and ask him if he’s single. You know what’s expected of you!”

They expect her to act like a simpering idiot?

“So, Trevor,” Sophie says with a grin. “Are you single?”

Bat, bat, bat goes her eyelashes. Gone is the spunky woman from this morning with her ponytail and a fierce stubborn streak. This afternoon, Sophie’s made up with false eyelashes and hair that looks sexily tousled but somehow still sporty. She’s hot, but it’s so fake it’s leaving me cold. I’ll play a role in this charade.

Turning on the charm, I grin. “That’s how we’re going to start? Okay. I am, Sophie. Are you?” At her nod, I turn up the sizzle in my smile. “That’ll make dancing together all the more fun.” We gaze into each other’s eyes like we’re seconds away from getting naked.

“Great!” Nancy says. Nigel rolls his eyes behind her. Sophie shuts off the coquettish sparkle like it’s a faucet. If the dancing thing doesn’t work out, she should pursue a career on the stage. She can act. I almost believed she was attracted to me for a moment, not merely tolerating me as a means to an end.

Nancy gestures for us to move to the center of the room. We’re in one of the backstage studios in the theater. The winter afternoon sun is trying to bleed in through the windows, but it’s a losing battle. The icy wind off the Atlantic Ocean is rattling the glass. It almost sounds like a cha-cha beat. “Show him the first few steps, Sophie.”

Sophie does as directed, and I watch intently, then try them. Sophie and I discussed that I’m supposed to pretend this is new and make a minor mistake or two to start and then do the steps correctly.

We work our way through the first few sets of eight counts, and it’s the smiling, supportive Sophie whose hand I’m holding now as we do side-by-side work across the floor. She’s calling out counts, and I’m trying my best to dance to the rhythm of her counts—and now the beat of the windows. I can see the frustration flash in her eyes when I miss a step.

“Oops! Missed a step there, Trevor. Let’s try again. You’re doing a great job.” To the world, it looks like she’s smiling, but I know she’s gritting her teeth and probably wants to smack me.

Mercifully, rehearsal ends, and we confirm when and where we’re supposed to be for tomorrow’s cast announcement. We’re riding in Teagan Penhall’s chopper. We’ll leave at five in the morning and arrive in Manhattan an hour later. Allowing for traffic, we should be at the studio at half-past six for hair and makeup. The show’s costume designers will be there, taking measurements while we’re getting ready so they can start pulling basic costume pieces for us to wear during the promo shots we’ll do after the cast announcement. There will be meetings with producers and other staff and interviews with stations around the country. It’ll be a full day that will hopefully have us back home by dinnertime.

I’m going to miss hockey practice tomorrow. That’s annoying. With Mac not playing and Crosby moved up, we need to get reps in so we’re comfortably working with each other. Regardless of what I told Sophie, I do subscribe to the practice-makes-perfect philosophy with my hockey. I like to run plays until they’re second nature. I like to know my wingers’ habits so well I can just sense where they are on the ice and get the puck to them without looking. It’s kind of like dancing. When you rehearse enough and know your partner, you can reach out your hand and be confident they’re going to grasp it. That’s how I am with my teammates. It would be nice if I could get there with Sophie, too.

6

SOPHIE

I’ve flownin private planes before, but never in a private helicopter. Traveling in the predawn hours is breathtaking. The pinks and purples rising from the east are beautiful. It reminds me of the northern lights I’ve seen from my home in Scotland. Stunning. The rosy fingers of dawn stretching across the sky seem to beckon us to a new beginning. Hopefully it’s a portent of good things to come for the show.

We land on the helipad on top of the studio building and take an elevator down to the hair and makeup room. Surprisingly, Trevor is not a morning person. He’s not grumpy, just quiet. It’s weird because he’s usually such a large presence in any room, but it’s nice having his silent strength next to me.

“You okay?” I ask from the makeup chair next to his. We’re waiting our turn, and the hustle and bustle around us almost creates a little island of privacy.

He takes a sip of coffee and nods. “Yeah, just waking up. Don’t worry, I’ll be obnoxious in an hour or so once the caffeine hits.” The way he gives me a half grin when he says that is adorable. It’s just a quirk of the lips, one side slightly higher than the other, but it makes butterflies take flight in my belly.

I bump him with my shoulder. “You’re not obnoxious, you’re just…animated.”

The throaty chuckle that washes over me like a warm shower doesn’t help the butterflies settle down. It’s crazy. I only spent one night in his arms, and I felt so lonely this morning getting up before dawn to make our flight and not having him there beside me. Not good, Sophie girl, not good.

“I won’t let you forget you said that.” He bumps my shoulder gently with his own.

“Good morning! Let’s get you gorgeous!” A guy around our age comes up to us. His long black hair is half up in a ponytail, and the rest falls in a multicolored riot of teal, pink, and purple to his shoulders. “I’m Xavier. He/him.” He holds out his hand for us to shake.

Trevor eyes him. Oh, please don’t let him be homophobic because I will refuse to work with him, and I need this job. And our little fling we’ve got going on will be a no-go.

“Your hair is so cool,” Trevor says with a touch of awe in his voice. My mouth drops. If someone asked me what I would expect this giant, manly hockey player to say, it would not be complimenting another man on his hair.

“Thanks, man!” Xavier says. “Check this out.”

He removes the black hair tie creating the half pony, and his black hair falls in a solid curtain, hiding the multicolored pink, teal, and purple strands.

“Business mode,” Xavier says. Trevor nods. “And party mode.” Xavier quickly puts the top layer of his hair back up in the bun and flips the colorful strands over his shoulder.

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