Page 51 of Wildcat
“What about college guys who play hockey to pay the bills?” A quiet knock on my door follows his question.
My pulse races as I pad to the door and open it a crack. There he is. Phone to his ear, Leo rests his free hand on the wall and stares at me with a breathtaking look that makes goosebumps dot my arm.
I drop my phone and open the door wider. “You can’t be here.”
“I know,” he says. “I just wanted to say good night in person.”
My heart lurches as he takes my hand and interlaces our fingers.
“Leo, I—” I start, then swallow. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“I know.” A pained expression crosses his face. He runs his thumb along my index finger. “Night, Scarlett.”
“Night, Leo.”
In the morning, there’s coffee waiting outside my door.
The last dayof our trip is uneventful. I hate myself a little for admitting this, but it isn’t nearly as exciting to watch the team when Leo isn’t playing. We get back late Sunday, and I don’t hear from Leo again via text or phone call.
Monday afternoon, I get to the paintball bar fifteen minutes early with two army-sized duffel bags. One is filled with bottles of vodka, and the other has shirts, hats, buttons, and other merchandise.
The bar is an old warehouse and just opened this summer. Inside, people are playing paintball on the right side, beyond a metal wall. The sound of playful screams and laughter drifts out. Music plays on the left in the bar area, and there’s a patio behind that.
After I find the manager and she points me to a table outside on the patio where I can set up, I get to work. I have everything out and ready to go and am digging for the uniform, if we can call it that—black spandex shorts and a tight tank top with the logo splashed across the front.
I start toward the bathroom only to find a CLOSED FOR CLEANING sign and a woman inside talking on the phone while she mops the floor. She speaks in Spanish, I think. I don’t understand her words, but the shooing motion she makes with her hand is crystal clear.
With a sigh, I glance down at my skirt and T-shirt.
Leo steps into my path as I’m deciding between going back out to my car or doing some quick under/over changing maneuvers right here in the bar.
My breath catches, and I freeze in my spot. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come try the…” He squints. “What kind of vodka did you say you were promoting?”
“I didn’t say.”
“Are you already done?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m just getting started if I can find somewhere to change.”
This is surreal. Leo Lohan tracked me down at my job.
“Well, come on. You can grab some free merch before it gets busy.”
He follows me outside and looks over the table. He holds up a bottle. “Caramel apple vodka? That sounds disgusting.”
It really, really does.
“Better keep those thoughts to yourself.” I take one of the hats and plop it on his head. It’s a really ugly hat, but on him, it doesn’t look bad at all. “Make yourself useful and keep lookout.”
I shimmy the black spandex up and under my skirt. Leo’s brows rise. “You’re changing out here?” He looks around.
“The bathroom is closed.” I unzip the skirt and push it down my legs. Leo keeps looking at me. “You’re a terrible lookout.”
“I think I misunderstood what a lookout does.”
Laughing, I pull off my T-shirt and toss it in Leo’s face, then tug the tank down over my boobs. It’s so tight it’s squishing the girls. I pull the material down over my stomach and then reach in and rearrange my boobs, so they peek out over the top.
