Page 23 of Puck Me Secretly

I felt 40 pairs of eyes move to me.

No emotion. Show no emotion. I stared back hard. No pun intended, but it felt like I was trying to stare down a pack of wolves. I tried to infuse anger and hate in my gaze, but I had no idea if it was working.

“I’ve put Rory in charge of monitoring your progress. She’ll be at every single game this season including all away games. She’ll be traveling with the team. She’ll be my eyes and ears on your performance, your stats, your ability to get along with your teammates, and youroff-ice antics. At this moment, she holds all the power, so don’t piss her off.”

Laughter rippled through the team and then died off when they realized my dad wasn’t joking.

“Rory?” my dad focused on me.

Oh my god. This was it. This was the moment that would decide whether these players respected or mocked me for the rest of the year.

I stood, paused, and looked over the entire group and collected my thoughts. My voice rang loud and clear.

“Number 33.”

The entire group froze while everyone glanced around. Movement from the back and the players in the front parted so the player could skate to the front.

Holy fucking fuck.

I stared at Max.

Max was here. None of this was making any sense. How was he here? On the ice? He was a hockey player? For the Wolves?

He stared back at me. Dripping sweat. Impossibly big in his uniform. Stupidly hot. Defiant. If possible, more pissed off than me.

You hurt me. You left me in a hotel without saying goodbye.

The entire group held their breath while we stared at each other, neither of us blinking.

I didn’t have to channel any emotion. It was all there. Like a red haze in front of my eyes.

“You’ll report to a meeting in my office after practice.” My command was crisp, edged with scathing scorn and a heavy dose of indifference.

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t speak.

I added, viciously. “Make sure you shower.”

I turned and walked up the cement steps. Dad moved with me.

“What’s the meeting about, Rory?”

Max’s tone was challenging, taunting and arrogant.

My dad stiffened beside me, but before he could respond, I spun around in Mom’s $800 heels.

“Thirty-three, you’ll address me as Miss Ashford. Is that clear?” My voice dripped hate. Because right now I hated him. On so many levels. With all my heart.

“My name is Max Logan.”

Blue eyes challenged me. He hated being called by his number.

I took pleasure in responding with an arctic tone. “When you earn my respect, you’ll earn your name. Until then, you’re just a number. Don’t be late.”

I glanced over the faces of the group of men. Shock, surprise, and respect showed on their faces. And then I turned away.

Dad,not big on praise, said nothing about that little moment, but he puffed up with pride. I had shown the world my Ashford backbone and my dad loved it.

The minute I got back to my office, I shut the door. My entire body trembled. I put my hands on my burning hot face while tumultuous emotions churned through my body.

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