Page 6 of Player Misconduct
Now I just need to keep it. No matter how a six-foot-three Finnish winger keeps stealing my attention.
Eyes on the only thing I’m allowed to carry home: we got a win. The series is alive.
When I open the door to my tiny studio apartment, the only thing I can afford, even with the generous salary Penelope pays me, it’s a reminder of every financial crater my ex-husband left behind. My name was still tied to his debt, his credit cards, the house. I’m finally free of it now, but barely. And yes, I did turn down the Hawkeyes’ offer to live in the team’s discounted apartment complex where all the players stay duringthe season… because, well, that should be self-explanatory. No players. And living with them is too close for professional boundaries.
I drop my bag. Something like his grin still lingers in my mind, unreasonably bright in the dim. I flick the light off, shake my head, and tell the empty room the one fact that can’t be ignored:
One hot night with Aleksi isn’t worth my medical license.
God… I hope I’m right about that.
Chapter Two
Kendall
Serendipity’s Coffee Shop smells like warm sugar and my resurrection after last night’s game.
I need caffeine and girl talk, and I need it now. Especially with the banter between me and Aleksi last night. I haven’t stopped thinking about it and I am in dire need of a distraction.
The sparkle in his eyes with his bloodied eyebrow, as if it couldn’t bother him any less, is burned into my memory.
His words play like a highlight reel, replaying over and over: “Fun fact—your pupils dilate when you look at something you want. Want me to test it?”
The chalkboard menu is crowded with hearts around the seasonal drinks: Honeysuckle latte, pistachio cold foam, Penelope’s famous dirty chai. One of the barista’s looks up when I walk in, despite the long line of customers in front of her, and waves at me.
My favorite thing about this place, second only to the food, is that it feels like family here.
The baristas all know me by name, and ever since the Hawkeyes hired me on, and Penelope pulled me into the inner circle of wives and girlfriends of the players, I’ve come to know this place as our special meeting spot to gossip about life.
I’ve never had a friend group like this. Shoot, I don’t even have a family as accepting and loving as this group of women. The idea of losing them is a scary thought. For as long as Penelope and the Hawkeyes are willing to keep me on, I’ll be here.
A toddler in a Hawkeyes beanie presses both hands to the pastry case like it’s a museum exhibit. The milk steamer screams in the background, and someone at the corner table cheers when a cinnamon roll the size of a catcher’s mitt lands on a plate.
“Kendall. Over here.” Penelope says, waving me over.
Our table is the usual chaos—Isla in a cozy sweater with a lipstick-stained to-go cup. She’s married to a retired Hawkeyes player who still coaches the Hawkeyes kids’ league. Cammy, Penelope’s assistant and JP Dumont’s girlfriend, is dissecting a blueberry muffin with surgical precision. Peyton, a well-known sports podcaster and the girlfriend of Hunter Reed, our left winger, is scrolling with one thumb and stirring with the other.
There are more of us, but with the size of our group, there are bound to be scheduling issues, and it’s hard to get us all in the same room at the same time.
“You’re late,” Peyton says without looking up. “Cammy threatened to text you a photo of the last almond croissant as leverage.”
“I would never,” Cammy says, already sliding a pastry across to me. “Except I absolutely would. We are at war with the lunch rush.”
A barista sets down our drinks. Penelope pushes a dirty chai toward me, wiggling her eyebrows. “Doctor’s orders.”
I roll my eyes and take a sip. It’s like a hug that knows secrets. “Okay, fine. You win.”
“Obviously,” Penelope says, tapping the stack of itineraries with her nail. “Are you packed for tomorrow’s away game? Wheels up at 9 a.m. for the team jet. Most of the wives and girlfriends are coming for the playoff games. We’re flying commercial, so we’ll see you all there.”
“You packing, Kendall?” Isla asks. “Or are you living the glamorous life of rolling scrubs and orthotics?”
“Two pairs of scrubs, a set of my Hawkeyes athletic sweats for the game, compression socks, and a bathing suit for the hotel hot tub that I never seem to get to,” I say.
Juliet Haynes, Coach Haynes’ wife lifts her mug. “Keep the dream alive, I say.”
She’s a well known celebrity party planner so she’s always jet setting and we don’t always get her at our coffee shop chats, so today is a treat.
“Thanks Juliet,” I say back with a grin.
