Page 47 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

I almost tell her a dismembered head.

“I couldn’t decide which shoes to bring,” I admit instead.

“Comfortable ones.” She hikes the bag to her shoulder. “I’ve booked three more meetings for you since you got on the plane. Anna Vohn with Lawrence Publishing and…”

My eye catches on a TV screen inside one of the many airport restaurants as we walk the corridor to exit.

I’ve watched more sports news in the past week than my entire life, so I instantly recognize the sports news channel and the three men sitting around a large, curved desk.

At the top of the screen are headshots of several Moonshot hockey players.

My gaze locks on Nick immediately. His dark hair and the scowl that I used to think was his default expression.

I pause long enough that Molly power walks ahead, still talking a mile a minute. She finally realizes I’m no longer beside her when she reaches the sliding doors to the exit. She hurries back to me, gaze flicking to the screen.

“Ah, the hockey player,” she says. “Did he convert you into a sports fan?”

“Maybe not a fan, but an appreciator.”

“And of him?”

“Definitely a fan.”

She grins. “Can’t blame you. He is cuuute. Nice?”

“Yeah.”

“Single?”

My cheeks heat. “Yes.”

Unfortunately, and as much as I wish I could tell her he isn’t single because he’s mine, he isn’t. I don’t know if he ever was, technically speaking, but I know I wanted him to be. I still do.

“Maybe for your next book we can send you to Paris or Italy. How do you feel about soccer?”

“Clueless.”

“Which is why you’ll need to interview an expert. Say the word and I’ll make a few calls.”

I have no doubt she would. “I don’t think I can handle learning another sport yet.”

I want to live in my hockey era a bit longer.

And my Nick era. I wonder what he’d say if I suggested stopping by for a quick visit after the convention.

It’s been less than a week but if he misses me even a fraction as much as I miss him, then I think he’ll be on board.

And if he isn’t, then I guess that’s my answer on whether or not this will truly work.

His photo flicks off the screen and Molly and I begin walking again. I’m excited to look for flights later and text him to make sure it’s okay. My lips curve. Kick ass at this convention and then I can go see him.

Almost like he knew I was thinking about him, my phone pings with a text from him. It’s a picture taken on the ice and he follows it up with another message.

Nick

Wish you were here.

Me

Just landed in Denver. Wish I were there too. X

“Everything good?” Molly asks.

“Yeah. Sorry.” I pocket my phone, feeling more certain about making a little detour after the convention. I didn’t imagine it this summer. I know it. He felt it too.

I let out a breath. “So who am I meeting with today?”

Her smile widens. “You’re booked solid, girl. Everyone wants to talk to you, and they are so excited about the book.”

I nod, feeling the first strums of genuine excitement. “All right. Tell me when, where, and what to say.”

She laughs again. “I’m one step ahead of you. Check your email.”

No doubt, I already have one waiting from her with a detailed agenda.

“You’re good,” I tell her.

“I know.” She purses her lips and lifts one shoulder. “Now, let’s go. We’ve got to haul ass to get back to the hotel for your dinner meeting.”

For the next twelve hours, I do nothing but eat, sleep, and talk about the book. Molly whisks me off to meeting after meeting, keeping me fueled with caffeine and sugar.

The excitement for the book is more than I ever could have dreamed.

When I’m at my best I soak up their praise and allow myself to feel proud and happy.

At my worst, it all makes me think of Nick and miss him so much it hurts.

None of this would have happened without him, and I know he’d get such a kick out of it all.

On Thursday night, one of the event sponsors hosts a cocktail party. As I’m walking through the lobby, readers are starting to arrive. The convention kicks off tomorrow and goes through the weekend. The hotel staff are putting up the banners and signage for the event.

Tomorrow, thousands of people will be here. Book lovers from all over the world. The first time I came to one of these conventions, I was blown away. Ten-year-old me who loved books and writing and had very few friends who shared my hobby couldn’t have dreamed up this life.

The hotel is massive with so many different areas that it’s easy to get turned around.

Luckily there’s plenty of signage pointing toward the conference area.

Event posters, balloons, and publisher marketing banners cover the windows and walls.

Seeing the cover of my book on the elevator doors is surreal in the best way. I snap a picture and text it to Olivia.

The noise of the party travels from the large banquet room to the bottom of the escalator. My nerves kick up a notch with every step closer.

As soon as I’m inside, I scan the room searching for Molly. I find her in what looks like a deep conversation with an editor from Lawrence Publishing.

I make my way to the bar and order a Corona because it reminds me of Nick. Once I have my drink in hand, I circle slowly around the room. I smile at industry people I recognize and say hello to other authors that I haven’t seen since the last event I attended.

I’m only starting to relax when I spot him.

Matt stands in a circle of at least ten people.

He has that air about him, charming arrogance that comes off as magnetic until you get to know him.

He’s personable and well-spoken. And in a room filled with introverts, he carries conversations and enjoys being the center of attention.

Our gazes meet briefly. I have no intention of stopping to say hello, but another author calls out to me.

Leah Amaretti writes gothic romance. We shared an editor at my first publisher and is always lovely when I see her at events.

“Hi,” I say, stepping closer to her but still avoiding Matt.

“I heard you were coming, but I didn’t want to believe it.” She’s tall and fit and when she hugs me it reminds me of Travis’s bone-crushing squeezes. “I missed you last year. Where’ve you been?”

“Writing,” I say with a smile as she pulls back.

“I heard you wrote a sports romance?” Kenna, another author I’ve met a handful of times, asks with a smile that is filled with surprise.

Slowly the whole circle opens and readjusts to let me in.

“I did. Yeah.” I take a sip of my drink. My cheeks feel hot as I feel Matt’s gaze on me. Looking at him feels like giving him the satisfaction of feeling important but ignoring him also feels like I’m allowing him too much power over me.

“I love hockey,” Kenna says. “I had no idea you were sporty.”

“Me either,” Matt says. “New hobby?”

I flick my stare slowly to his. To everyone else I’m sure that his smile looks friendly, but I know better.

“Something like that.”

“I overheard Molly say you spent the summer interviewing a professional hockey player?” The statement comes out like a question as Leah’s eyes light up awaiting my answer.

“That’s right.”

“Which one?” she asks at the same time Matt snorts and says, “Those guys barely have enough brain cells left after a career of being knocked around all the time.”

I happen to know that Matt has a sore spot when it comes to athletes. He was cut from his high school football team, and he’s been holding a grudge against jocks ever since. I open my mouth to defend Nick and every other player I met this summer, but before I can a server steps up beside me.

“Cookie?” She holds out a tray filled with a variety of options. Chocolate chip, sugar, and one M&M cookie.

I take it, smiling so hard that I lose track of the conversation and the anger I was feeling dissipates.

“Ruby?” Matt says my name.

“Sorry.” I blink a few times and refocus on him.

His expression is smug masked as polite amusement. “I asked if you heard the news about Becoming Alaric getting picked up by Gradient Pictures?”

“Yeah, I think I saw that somewhere. Congratulations.”

The smile on his face falters, almost like he hoped I wouldn’t be so generous in my praise.

He wants me to be pissed off or sad, anything other than detached.

That way, he’s won. Not only did he steal my book idea, but he did so with wild success.

I can’t change that, but I don’t have to stand here and let him see how it broke me.

Past tense. I’m all put together now. Or ninety-nine percent anyway.

Maybe that kind of break never fully heals but it’s no longer keeping me from moving forward.

“Excuse me,” I say to the rest of the circle. “I’m going to mingle.”

I only get two steps away when I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the cookie and send it to Nick. Our communication has become a series of pictures, cataloging our days, and a hundred unique variations that all say how much we miss each other.

He calls as I’m heading back up to my room.

“Hi!” I answer, already smiling before I hear his voice.

“Hey, Red.”

My eyes close and my grin widens.

“You there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. How are you?”

“Good. Just sitting on the back deck enjoying the sunset.”

I can picture him, feet kicked up, leaning back, and staring out at the water.

“That sounds nice. How was Aidan’s first day of school?”

“Good. He likes his teacher and Abigail is in his class.”

“Who’s Abigail?”

“She’s the Ruby Madison of fifth grade.”

“Is that a compliment?” I ask with a laugh.

“You know what I mean. She’s cute and cool and way out of his league—according to him.”

“You think I’m out of your league?”

“I know it.”

It isn’t true but I soak up his words anyway. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I really miss you.”

“I know. I keep looking over at the cabin expecting to see you sitting on the porch or walking down by the lake. How’s the convention?”

“It hasn’t really started yet. Today was filled with meetings and then a cocktail party.”

“Ooh fancy. What are you wearing?”

I glance down at my dress. “Your jersey and a pair of heels.”

He groans. “I know you’re fucking with me, but I don’t even care.”

“I’ll send you a picture later to prove it.”

“I look forward to that.”

In the background, Aidan says something I can’t quite make out and Nick says quietly, away from the phone, “I’ll be right there.”

When he speaks to me again, he says, “I gotta go learn fifth grade math.”

“Ewww.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles.

“Okay, well, I’ll text you tomorrow. You have the team barbeque?”

“Yeah. What time does the convention start?”

“Molly has me scheduled first thing in the morning for coffee with one of the editors interested in the new book.”

“That’s great. We’re all rooting for you. Not that you need it, but good luck.”

“Thank you.”

“All right. Well…” He pauses like he doesn’t want to hang up or there’s more he wants to say.

“Yeah,” I say because I know the feeling.

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“K. Forcing myself to hang up now, but don’t forget to send me that picture, Red.”