Page 79 of Zero Pucks Given
I bit my lip to keep from grinning.
The lobby and bar were full of Surge players hanging out and relaxing, although nobody was drinking alcohol. Two players sitting in a booth, Mason Calder and another guy I didn’t know, immediately waved to Grayson when they saw us.
“Captain! Wanted to run something by you. A strategy for game two.” Mason held up a tablet.
Grayson made an annoyed noise deep in his throat. “This is getting in the way of all the filthy things I want to do to you.”
“It’s the playoffs,” I reminded him. “Your job needs to come first. And yes, I chose my wording intentionally. You can join me upstairs and comesecondafter you mentor the rookies.”
He glanced at his watch. “Give me half an hour.”
“Perfect. I’ll get started without you.”
He groaned again. “Seriously. You’re killing me, Josie.”
I turned and walked toward the elevator, making sure to brush my fingers across the front of his pants in passing. A few steps later I glanced over my shoulder and saw him still standing there, watching me go while awkwardly holding his phone in front of his crotch to hide his hard-on.
My floor was filled with a surprising amount of activity—a lot of team employees were staying on my hall, and many of them had their doors open and were discussing tomorrow’s game. Trainers, data experts, assistant coaches, marketing people. Everyone was doing something with a tablet or laptop.
When I got to my room, I stripped down to my bra and panties and relaxed in bed with a bottle of wine from the mini bar. Even though it was a cheap bottle, I couldn’t tell the difference between it and the absurdly-expensive bottle from dinner. That was probably a good thing. The last thing I needed was to develop expensive tastes.
Grayson texted me ten minutes later.
Grayson: Mason wants to spend the next two hours reviewing game footage. I’m working on ditching him. Might take another ten minutes, then I’ll come to your room.
Me: About that. My floor is filled with team employees. The doors are all open, and three coaching assistants are sitting in the hall discussing something called zone coverage. It’s going to be tough to sneak into my room without being noticed.
Grayson: Fuck.
Me: Maybe we should try to meet in your room?
Grayson: The problem is that I’m sharing the room with Mason.
Me: That’s fine. He can watch.
Grayson: …
Me: I’m joking. That’s not my thing.
Grayson: I might be able to convince Mason to study game footage in the bar with two of the other wingmen. That would buy us some time on my floor. Stand by.
Me: I’m not standing. I’m laying down. In bed. In my underwear.
Grayson: You’re killing me. But I meant hold on.
Me: I am holding onto something. Want to see?
Without waiting for a response, I sent him a photo of my lower half, with my hand buried into my panties.
Grayson: Oh. My. God.
Me: Hmm?
Grayson: Now I can’t leave the bar. Everyone will see the massive tent I’m pitching.
Me: Text me when you’re upstairs :-)
Twenty minutes passed before he answered.
