Page 15 of Game Changer
“Abusinessproposition. And I remember a few of those previous times that weren’t bad at all.”
Kip smiled into his beer. “Me too.”
“Ipropose,” Shawn said, “that you apply for a better job.”
Kip fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Like where?”
“I have afriend...”
“A friend, huh?”
“He works at the Museum of the City of New York.”
Okay. Kip was listening now.
“He told me that they are just about to post an opening for an assistant educator. You know—someone who helps organize school trips and stuff. Teach the little kiddies all about our great city.”
Kip slumped back in his chair. “I’m not qualified for that.”
Shawn looked at him pointedly. “Do I need to use my Elena voice?”
“No,” Kip grumbled.
“Youwillapply for this job, Kip Grady. And you will dazzle them with your charm, and your love of history, and the fact that you have lived here all your life.”
“I won’t even get an interview!”
“I’m calling Elena.”
“Fine. She won’t answer. She hates phone calls.”
“Apply for the job, Kip.”
Kip sighed.Why not, right?“Okay. I’ll apply. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Don’t mention it, asshole. Now—” Shawn leaned back and made a show of looking around the bar “—how about you see if our friend Kyle feels like celebrating your glamorous new career.”
This time Kipdidroll his eyes. “I’m not celebrating shit. And...” He stopped himself because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.I’m holding out for someone else right now. You probably know him—he’s the captain of the New York Admirals. You might remember him fromPeoplemagazine’s“50 Most Beautiful People” issue? Yeah, I have a crush on him. He’s almost definitely heterosexual. Fingers crossed!
Instead he just said, “I think I’m gonna head home early tonight. But let’s see if we can’t findyousomeone.”
* * *
“It wasn’t fucking charging! It was a fucking hit! It’shockey, you blind mother—”
“That’s enough.” Scott grasped Zullo firmly by both arms and hauled him away from the referee.
Zullo turned his head and kept screaming. “What, I can’t fucking touch anyone now? This not a contact sport anymore? Open your fucking eyes, you—”
“I’ll talk to him. Just go to the box, Zullo.”
Zullo shook his head. Carter skated over to help escort him to the penalty box. If Zullo kept the yelling up, he’d end up with a game misconduct.
Scott went back to the referee. “Charging, Hal? Really?”
“You telling me I don’t know how to do my job, Hunter? I know what I saw.” Hal Coleman—one of Scott’s favorite referees—only came up to Scott’s chest, but he was tough as nails under his calm demeanor. Smart too.
“Well,” Scott said, glancing at the penalty box that was now occupied by a fuming Frank Zullo, “won’t hurt him to cool off a bit in there anyway.”
