Page 72 of Thrown for a Loop
“Yup.” She nods solemnly. “I find it hard to discuss a man’s travel receipts after you know exactly what his penis looks like.”
“You are full of wisdom. I’ll just lurk by the exit. They all have to come out to get to the bus, right?”
“Right,” she agrees, pointing down the corridor. “That’s the door you’re looking for. I’d join you, but I’ve been ordered to wait here with his majesty’s dinner.” She holds up a paper bag.
“Gotcha. Wish me luck.”
I maneuver toward the exit, but the hallway is crowded with sports media and staff members. It’s so chaotic that I actually collide with one of our hockey players when we both try to fill the same opening. As my nose bounces off his necktie, I make a noise likeoof.
Then I step back and look up to find Jean-Luc Moreau, the worst skater on the team and the only player who’s failed to show up for two scheduled sessions with me.
“Merde alors, excusez-moi,” he grumbles.
“Is this the only way we’re going to meet, Mr. Moreau? I’ve seen your name on my calendar twice in the past week, but somehow you never turn up on the rink.”
His cold gray eyes study me, and a chill runs down my spine. “Eh,” he grunts. “Was not a good time.”
Several angry responses fill my brain. But I don’t let them out. Recriminations won’t win him over. “Maybe the third time is a charm?” I say instead.
“Maybe,” he says before sidestepping me and disappearing.
At least Sharp didn’t overhear that.God.I try again to navigate the corridor. Up ahead—because noting Chase Merritt is my superpower—I see a set of broad shoulders that I could recognize anywhere.
I hurry after him, but he’s got longer legs and a head start. I see the exterior door at the end of the hall open and shut after him.
Crap.I put on another burst of speed, dodging a security guard and then an equipment guy carrying about forty hockey sticks. When I finally reach the door, I push through it and dart outside. “Chase?”
Suddenly I’m blind. Or at least it feels that way, because a dozen camera flashes are all going off at once. There’s a crowd of fans out here, lined up to see the players. Security has erected a velvet rope—like the kind they use in clubs—to hold back the masses.
And Chase is escaping at a rapid clip toward the waiting transit vans. “Chaaaaaaase!” someone yells. It’s a woman’s voice, of course. “Will you sign my program?”
She gets a wave, but he doesn’t break his stride, so I take off after him. “Chase?”
He doesn’t hear me, and a security guard ushers him into one of the vans before the doors close behind him.
I arrive, panting, a moment later, and flash my Legends ID at the guard.
He shakes his head. “That one is full, ma’am. Next van, please.”
“But…”
“Next van, please.”
Defeated, I climb into the empty next van. I take a seat and then watch the crowd freak out again when three more players emerge from the building. They strut past the crowd, waving, and climb into the van after me.
One of them drops into the seat beside me and offers his hand. “Tony DeLuca. Nice to finally meet the most interesting person to hit the Legends in a long time.”
“Call me Zoe.” I shake his hand firmly, like I’ve learned to do with hockey players. “But if I’m so damned interesting, how come your name hasn’t turned up on my schedule yet?”
“Easy, Coach Zoe.” He smiles at me, and his big brown eyes are playful. He’s a big guy, with a Roman nose that looks like it’s been broken at least once. But he’s a study in contrasts, because there’s also warmth in his eyes. “They tend to schedule the goalie coaching sessions opposite your ice time. My schedule just hasn’t lined up with yours yet.”
“Oh.” Actually, I’d noticed that. “You’re right. I’ll retract my claws.” I lean back against the plush seat. Even the vans are nicer than I’m used to. “It’s just been a difficult start. I can’t seem to get out of my own way.”
“That’s most of us on a good day, yeah? Unless some of the guys are giving you trouble…”
“No, not really,” I lie, even as the wordsgo home, bitchroll through my head. “I’m just impatient. And Sharp basically told me that I have to improveeveryone’sgame by next Tuesday.”
“Yeah, you slacker.” He gives me a gentle punch in the arm. “Get on that. I saw your master class is coming up. And I’ll sign up for a session soon. Scout’s honor.”
