Page 96 of Sure Shot
“Does it have to do with my nail color?” I ask, shedding my coat.
She shakes her head. “This is bigger than nail color. Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course!”
“Let the girl buy her coffee first!” Georgia hollers. “What if they sell out of ginger cookies?”
“I don’t mind,” I say. “Just as long as we don’t have to talk about the Dallas game.”
The women make matching faces. “That topic is strictly verboten,” Georgia agrees.
“Nate can’t shut up about it, either,” Becca says. “The players must be so stressed out. Especially Tank.”
“He’s…” I don’t even know what to say, because Tank seems stressed, too. On the one hand, he’s been loving and wonderful since our Come to Jesus conversation ten days ago. But he’s a little quiet, too. I can only hope that Dallas is the reason. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”
“Right,” Becca says, clutching a folder to her chest. “Let’s talk about my pet project, instead. It was actually you who gave me this idea, and I haven’t been able to let it go.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. And then my husband, who’s still trying to teach me to think like a billionaire. I must be getting better at it, because I’m about to bring professional women’s hockey to Brooklyn.”
I let out an honest-to-God fangirl shriek. “You’re kidding! Becca, don’t tease me.”
“Oh, I’m not. See?” She opens the folder and pushes it toward me. There’s a page full of sketches with various logos and team names.The Brooklyn Bottle Rockets. The Brooklyn Beasties. The Brooklyn Breakaway. “What do you think?”
“Wow,” I breathe. “This is everything! Are you buying out one of the women’s teams?” Women’s pro hockey is so small—just five teams—and every one of them is hanging on by their fingernails.
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I want to fund a new one. It would be the first women’s team to enjoy the training staff and facilities of a men’s pro team. It won’t be a moneymaker, but that’s not even the point. Nate’s original goal was to bring excellent hockey to Brooklyn. And that’s what we’re doing, right?”
“You’re…wow.” For a long moment I can’t even speak. I’m just so overwhelmed with excitement and gratitude. “Can I help?” I squeak. “I mean—you can totally say no. But there will be so much work to do. And I have so many ideas. So many!” I’m starting to sound a little manic, but I can’t hold it back. “This could be big for women’s hockey.”
Rebecca reaches over and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Yes, you can help. Breathe, Bess. This is going to be a slow build.”
“Okay.” I take a breath. “Where will they play? The stadium is too big a venue.”
“True, and we don’t own it,” Becca says. “The women will play their games at the practice facility. All I have to do is add more seating behind the nets on each end, and we’ll have a capacity of twelve hundred people.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. “So the cost of hosting those games will ultimately be pretty low.”
“Right!” Becca agrees. “All the big costs are for personnel. Creating jobs in Brooklyn is a good idea, anyway. You can help me figure out who to hire.”
“You need a female GM,” I say immediately. “Someone who understands both hockey and business. And a coach, but those are easier to find. There’s a lot of under-appreciated coaching talent in women’s college hockey.”
“This is going to be so much fun,” Georgia gushes.
“It is! The world needs women’s hockey. And now I think I need a cookie.”
“Go.” Georgia shoos me toward the counter.
When I come back, Georgia and Becca have moved on. They’re discussing the finer points of appetizers. “Mini quiche can be great or terrible.” Georgia’s voice is full of gravity. “Pigs in blankets are more reliable.”
“Good point.” Becca makes a note.
“Planning a party?” I ask, sitting down with my cup of coffee and my cookie.
“Yes we are,” Becca says. “We’re hosting a little shindig at the hotel after the Game that Shall Not Be Named.”
“Don’t call it a victory party,” Georgia warns me. “We’re superstitious.”
