Page 8 of Pucking Matt
“Harvey.”
“Hardy?” I ask, pen poised over the cup.
“V. It's with a V,” he clarifies.
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Your friend here has a V too.”
Matt's jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing. Harvey shifts his weight, clearly wishing he was anywhere else.
As they walk away to find a table, I realize they're planning to eat here. Great. Just great.
When their order is ready, I walk up to Jen. “Jen, you need to give this to them.”
“Me?” she asks, staring down at their order.
“Yes.” I force the bag into her hand and walk away.
I get back to work, relieved she’s handing their order over. I’m utterly annoyed as the time passes and I keep catching Jen glancing at their table in the corner. I think someone has a crush. I glance over once to find Matt and Harvey with their heads bent over a notebook, scribbling something down.
“Amber,” Jen hisses. “Go see what they’re writing.”
I glance over my shoulder. “No, thanks.”
She rolls her eyes and then she walks over to wipe down a nearby table. When she returns, she shrugs. “Just looks like a bunch of lines to me.”
I nod, understanding immediately. Hockey plays.
The rest of my shift drags on, Matt's presence a constant irritation in the corner of my eye. When I finally clock out, I practically run to my car, eager to escape the penalty box Matthew has me trapped in. He has some nerve.
At home, I dive into my mountain of work. My inbox is overflowing with emails from the law firm where I work, each one marked urgent. I'm halfway through a particularly dense brief when my phone buzzes.
It's a TikTok from Jen. I don’t have time for this, but she labels it asurgentas a joke, so I open it, curious despite myself.
And there he is. Matthew Pearson, lifting his shirt to show his abs, skating backward on the ice as he lip-syncs to some pop song. The camera cuts to Harvey, then to a few other guys I don't recognize, all of them hamming it up for the camera.
Jen: Wow, right? He is smoking hot.
I roll my eyes, tossing my phone aside. I've got a mountain of work to do and exactly zero time to waste thinking about douchecanoe Matthew Pearson and his cocky smirk while flexing.
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the brief in front of me. My phone buzzes again. Another TikTok from Jen.I ignore it this time. I don't need to see Matthew Pearson in skates, or out of them for that matter. I just don’t need to see him at all. It’s an ugly reminder of who I once was. Frankly, I’m embarrassed by how Matt makes me feel: angry, out of control, and like I’m a teen again.
The next morning, I'm power walking through the law office, my heels clicking against the polished floor. I've got a stack of files tucked under one arm and a lukewarm coffee in the other.
“Amber!” Mr. Robinson's voice booms from his office. “I need those Daniels divorce papers on my desk in ten.”
I nod, even though he can't see me. “On it, sir!”
I duck into my cubicle, dropping the files onto my already cluttered desk. The Daniels case is a mess – husband cheating with the nanny, wife retaliating by maxing out his credit cards. It's like a soap opera, only with more paperwork.
By the time lunch rolls around, my stomach is growling louder than Mr. Robinson yells at opposing counsel. I grab my purse and head out, desperate for something that isn't microwaved or from a vending machine.
There's a little cafe a block from the office that makes an amazing club sandwich. As I push open the door, the smell of fresh bread and roasted turkey hits me. Heaven.
I'm standing in line, mentally rehearsing my to-do list, when the bell above the door chimes. I glance back out of habit and nearly choke on the air.
Again?
I huff, turning away quickly, hoping Matt doesn't recognize me. I'm in my suit, hair pulled back in a tight bun. I look nothing like the messy-haired barista he's used to tormenting.
