Page 34 of Perfectly Grumpy

“I’ll think about it,” I say, putting him off. “The only thing I need from you is to take a picture with a VIP sponsor right now.”

He sighs. “Do I have to?”

I fold my arms. “Yes. And I expect full charm—dimples, eye contact, the whole package.”

“So you admit my dimples are effective,” he says, and I catch a hint of surprise in his voice before he recovers. “Good to know, Sunny.”

THIRTEEN

Tate

The stadium roars as Coach Jenkins gives us final instructions. Even if I tried to ignore the way my stomach is churning, the scoreboard reminds me—this is Game Seven of the Calder Cup Finals, tied with a minute left on the clock.

I grip my stick, my legs burning from the relentless pace. Chicago has been a brutal opponent—fast, aggressive, playing like they’ve got nothing to lose. But we’ve held them off just enough to give ourselves a shot.

When we take the ice, the face-off is in our zone. Brax steps in at center, and the Titans’ forward leans into him, trying to muscle him off the puck, but Brax resets and pulls it back cleanly to Leo.

He barely has time to move before a Chicago winger barrels toward him. He fakes right, dragging the puck just in time, but the hit lands anyway, sending the puck spinning loose.

I hustle toward it, reaching it just in time to pass it to Rourke, who fires a shot toward the goal. The goalie makes an insane save, sending the rebound flying straight into a mess of sticks and skates. Bodies crash together, with Brax and Leo in the mix, both trying to get a piece of it.

Then it’s gone, and I look down the ice to see their fastest player, Nathan Cross, breaking away with nothing but open spacein front of him. I react instantly, pushing off with everything I’ve got. My skates carve hard into the ice as I chase him down. He winds up, ready to fire on our new goalie, Miles, who’s been practicing for this moment since he joined us.

I dive forward, hooking his shot at the last possible second, causing the puck to veer wide of the net.

The crowd roars, but it’s not over. The puck is still loose, and Cross is scrambling, trying to recover, but I beat him to it, sweeping it around the boards to Rourke.

Brax is already flying down the ice. Rourke cuts inside past a Chicago defender before threading a pass to Brax, who doesn’t hesitate. He rips a shot, and the red light flashes while the horn blares.

I barely process what happens next before my teammates swarm me.

“Yes, Foster!” Brax shouts, shoving me into a headlock before shaking me like an excited golden retriever with a stuffed animal.

Leo grins. “That was insane.”

Rourke smacks my helmet. “That block! That’s going in the highlight reel.”

When we reach the locker room, the guys are in high spirits. No one expected us to take down Chicago in the final game, but we did. And we played our freaking hearts out.

Brax is still grinning as he strips off his helmet.

“Amazing shot at the end,” I tell him, giving him a high five as I pass.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been possible if you hadn’t stopped Cross from getting that breakaway,” he fires back. “I thought the game was over then.”

I shrug. “What can I say? I play good defense.”

“Yeah, you do!” Leo shouts from the other side of the room. “Heard Seattle had a scout at the game—looking at you.”

I pause. “Seriously?”

Leo nods. “Yeah. The wives and girlfriends were talking about it.”

Brendan, our conditioning coach, steps into the locker room and lets out a sharp whistle. “Hey, everyone, Lauren needs you to hurry to the press conference,” he announces before turning to me. “Tate, someone’s here to see you.”

When I step into the hallway outside the locker room, Olivia stands next to two young kids in Crushers jerseys, bouncing excitedly in place.

“We tried to catch you before you hit the locker room, but the crowd was too loud,” Olivia says. “The kids were at the concession stand when I met you earlier, so I missed introducing you. This is my husband, Jake,” Olivia says, gesturing to the tall bearded guy next to her.

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