Page 44 of For the Boys
She looked around in search of her friends and found Lexie and Amelia seated on one of the large sectionals, holding court amidst a group of younger Warriors players. Kimber was, naturally, at the beer pong tables.
“I’m going to go check on Lexie and Amelia,” Berkley said, turning to go.
Brent reached out and caught her hand. “I’ll come with you.” Berkley nodded and towed him across the space to her friends.
“I hope you two are playing nice,” Berkley said, flopping down on an empty love seat. Brent hovered nearby, and Berkley patted the spot next to her. He smiled and sat, throwing his arm across the back of the couch behind her.
“Oh, hey, Berk,” Lexie said. “We’re just introducing ourselves to the team.”
Berkley raised an eyebrow, looking at the three young hockey players squeezed onto a couch opposite them. She laughed at the sight; her two tall, model-thin friends dominated a sectional large enough for six while three sturdy hockey players were packed like sardines on a loveseat made for two. She recognized them as Hank Ratelle and Tommy Grey, forwards, and Jacob Poole, a defenseman.
Hank, affectionately referred to as “Rat” by his teammates and the fanbase, stuck out his hand to Berkley. “H-Hank,” he stuttered. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Hank Ratelle. This is Tommy and Jacob,” he added, pointing to his right and left respectively. Hank had clear, olive skin that Berkley would kill for and was tall and still slightly gangly, not yet having grown out of his youthful, string-bean body. Berkley figured a few more years in the league would fill him out nicely.
“I hope my friends aren’t scaring you,” she said, reclining back on the couch. She smiled when she felt Brent’s fingers grasp a lock of her hair and twirl it around.
“Oh, no,” Jacob said. “They’re great. They were just telling us who they know here when you and Jean walked over.”
“Yeah, they’re with me,” Brent said, smirking down at Berkley. For the second time in less than five minutes, she raised an eyebrow, and he grinned.
She couldn’t help but smile back. His grin was infectious, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It was slightly crooked, one of his incisors a touch longer than the other, which only added to his overall charm.
She was a sucker for good teeth and a killer smile.
Oh boy, she thought.I’m in trouble.
Tommy, or “Grey” as he was known by the rest of the guys, spoke. “So you’re the infamous Berkley.” He sat with his arms crossed over his chest, exuding confidence. And for good reason: despite being twenty years old, he was well over six feet tall, with impressive biceps, a trim torso, and classic blue-eyed, blond-haired good looks.
Rat and Grey had an interesting story. They had been playing hockey together since they were children, both having grown up in the suburbs of Chicago. They’d finished high school and skipped juniors, jumping right onto the first line at Boston University together. At nineteen years old, prior to the start of their sophomore season at BU, both had been drafted by the Warriors—Ratelle in the third round and Grey in the fourth. Ever the inseparable pair, they’d decided to leave college early and make the jump to the pros following their junior season. After half a season playing for the Warriors farm team, both rookies got called up, Grey the week before Ratelle, when a few key guys went down with injuries. They’d both been playing in the league ever since, taking up the center and right wing positions on the third line.
Berkley shot a questioning look at Brent, who was smiling tightly at Grey. “I don’t know about infamous,” she said, “but yes, I’m Berkley.”
“Tell us about yourself, Berkley,” Rat said, appearing more comfortable than he had a few minutes ago. “What is it about you that’s got our Brent all sprung?”
Lexie laughed, and Amelia whispered, “Sprung? Who even says that anymore? And is he even old enough to know who T-Pain is?”
Berkley glanced at Brent again, whose cheeks were burning bright red beneath his tan.
Aww, the boy blushes, Berkley thought.That’s adorable.
“Well, I’m not sure, to be honest. I’m almost halfway through my last semester of law school. I was a freshman at Michigan State when Brent was a senior.” She tapped her finger on her chin, trying to think of something interesting to say. “And I really like hockey.”
Rat’s question was one she’d been asking herself for several weeks now. What was it about her that had drawn Brent in? He didn’t know her well enough to like her based on her personality. She wasn’t supermodel-tall, thin, or beautiful. She had fairly symmetrical features, and her blue eyes were bright and prone to change colors with the weather. No one would ever call her “long-limbed” or “leggy,” since she was only a few inches over five feet, and her boobs were average but fairly perky. To counteract her penchant for beer, she exercised regularly and had a fairly flat stomach. If you added all of that together, she thought she was conventionally pretty. It still didn’t explain why Detroit’s most eligible bachelor, superstar hockey player Brent freaking Jean was interested in her.
“I mean, to be fair, you are pretty hot,” said Jacob. Brent reached out and smacked him upside the head, shooting a death glare in his direction. “Objectively speaking of course!”
“Tell us about law school,” Rat said. “The only lawyers we’ve ever met are in contract negotiations. What type of law are you studying? What’s your dream job?”
Berkley was all too happy to discuss her law school journey and career plans. She spent the next half hour talking while the Warriors sat in rapt attention, asking more questions, seemingly hanging on her every word.
“And so, ultimately,” she finished up quite a while later, “I’d like to become an agent.”
“Like a sports agent?” Brent asked, looking down at her, his hand having migrated from the tips of her hair to the back of her neck, rubbing slow circles at the base of her skull. She nearly moaned at how good it felt.
She blinked a few times, clearing her mind enough to answer. “Yep. I’d especially love to represent rookies and women—you know, people who don’t always get a fair shake because they’re young or considered the lesser sex.”
“That’s amazing,” Rat said. “That you want to help people like that. I wish my agent was like that.”
Berkley glanced at Brent.
