Page 9 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

RUBY

Nick Galaxy. Six feet, two inches tall. Thirty-one years old. Captain of the Montana Moonshot. Wears jersey number thirteen. Previously played for Chicago and then, most recently, the Wildcats. Last season he led the Moonshot in…some stats that I can’t remember but sounded very impressive.

I spent the morning looking him up, arming myself with information and preparing to face him again.

I was prepared, in theory, but my memory had dulled the sharp edges of his personality.

You know how some people walk around like they don’t have a care in the world?

Nick is the opposite. It seems like everything bothers him. Mostly, me.

His dark hair is messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it or perhaps playing hockey. Don’t they usually wear helmets? And pads? Maybe they only wear those sometimes, like when they’re going to fight it out, WrestleMania style.

He’s in black athletic pants eerily similar to the ones he had on yesterday and a light purple Moonshot Hockey T-shirt.

I’m taking all this in as he skates toward me.

He looks good and he looks…irritated at my presence.

He knew last night that he was my contact as I babbled on about meeting a hockey expert at the rink today.

I was certain of that even before Mike came over this morning to apologize and tell me Nick needed a few days to come around to the idea.

As a fellow optimist, I appreciate his sunny outlook, but I can’t afford to wait and see. So, here I am. I couldn’t sit around and do nothing. I couldn’t not try. I need him. I don’t relish the idea of begging, but I’m not above it either.

I had not predicted the rink to be filled with children when I got in my lime green MINI Cooper and drove over, but it’s too late to go back now. Nick’s already seen me.

“Hi.” I lift a hand in a wave as he gets closer.

His mouth moves in what I think might be an attempted polite sort of smile before he says, “What are you doing here?”

“Okay, right to it.” No “Hello, Ruby. Good to see you. Sorry I was a jackass yesterday.”

Man, he’s grumpy. It must be exhausting. All that stomping and jaw clenching.

“Didn’t my dad give you the message?” A muscle in his cheek flexes and one dimple appears. It’s so disorienting that I don’t respond quickly enough, and Nick adds, “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t sound sorry.

I break out of my dimple-induced haze as it disappears. The one in his jaw remains, though less visible today since he still hasn’t shaved.

“Oh no, he did,” I say. I glance back at the kids on the ice. They look adorable out there, all padded up like Randy in A Christmas Story . They’re only missing the long scarf covering their head and face.

What I wouldn’t give for a scarf right about now. If I had realized how cold it was going to be (which I absolutely should have since ice tends to be, well, cold), I would have dressed warmer. I’m not sure I’ve been good and truly warm since I stepped onto the plane in Arizona.

“Then, why are you here?”

It’s not a perfect opening to launch into my well-rehearsed speech that ended with me somehow convincing him to help me, but here goes nothing.

“I know that you said no to being interviewed, but I was wondering?—”

“No.” He doesn’t say the word unkindly, but it’s unyielding.

“At least let me finish asking the question before you shoot it down. What if I was going to offer to shine your skates or something?” I wave my hand toward his feet.

“You came here to ask me if you could shine my skates?” One dark brow rises in challenge.

“Well, no, but…” I feel eyes on us and glance over to see a group of women, moms of kids on the ice I’d bet, staring in our direction. I’m aware they’re probably staring at him because—why wouldn’t they? He’s nice to look at…from far away where he can’t glare directly at you.

“I need to get back to the kids,” Nick says. “So if you want to ask me something else, do it fast.”

“Are you coaching some kind of camp?”

He looks at me like he knows I’m stalling and finds it…yep, you guessed it, annoying. “Yeah. The team holds a couple of these every summer for local kids.”

“That’s really cool and you seem like a good coach.”

“You got that in the two seconds you saw me on the ice?”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. I have no idea, but you weren’t glaring at them, so it was a definite improvement.”

His lips twitch with amusement. “They were invited.”

“Ooooh, burn,” I mock, laughing lightly.

He crosses his arms over his chest, which—woah—the pose really does something for his biceps.

“What do you want, Red?” His eyes are a dark green that really pop when he’s grinning.

He’s purposely goading me so I’ll leave, but instead, it fires me up.

Focus, Ruby. You can think about how hot the grumpy hockey player is later.

I square my shoulders and stand taller. “I am sorry about yesterday. You weren’t expecting me and I’m sure it was a lot to take in.”

Silence. He doesn’t confirm or deny, but he also doesn’t stop giving me his attention.

“I have just a few questions?—”

“I don’t do interviews,” he clips.

He’s said that twice now. I thought it was an offhand comment the first time, but now I suspect there’s something there. “Why not?”

“I don’t like people in my business.”

A laugh bubbles in my chest and slips free.

It’s a mixture of exhaustion from the past two days and honestly the past two years, disbelief that this man is so insufferable, and anger because yet another thing in my career is teetering toward disaster and I am sick of it.

This is supposed to be my chance to turn things around.

A summer to save my career and my life. And no one is getting in the way of it.

Not even this hot, grumpy hockey player.

“I don’t care about your business!” I say, exasperated and too loudly. “I just need to understand the basic rules of hockey so I can fix my book, reboot my career, and prove the whole world wrong.”

My outburst catches him by surprise, judging by his lack of reply. I take a deep breath.

“It’s not information about you that I would be looking for. Think of it as research not an interview.”

He doesn’t immediately say no, so I keep going.

“It shouldn’t take long,” I promise, which is more hope than truth. I’ve never tried to swap out details like this after the book was written, but how hard could it be? “I just need the basics.”

“The basics of hockey?” he asks as if still trying to make sense of it all.

“Enough to convincingly write a story about a guy who plays hockey.” Then with a hand wave. “His job is a minor part of the story.”

I give him my biggest, best smile, hoping it silently communicates how easy and breezy this can go. I’ll ask him a few questions, then we’ll go our separate ways. No big deal.

“I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.” This time there is a hint of sincere apology in his voice.

“Please?” I said I wasn’t above begging but it still pains me to do it.

“I came to Moonshot because I need help. I have six weeks to do the research I need and edit my book. If I don’t…

” I can’t bring myself to finish that sentence.

I’m not even sure what will happen if I fail.

I guess I’ll lose the contract with Doreen and have to repay the very large advance, and the likelihood that anyone else will want to buy a book from me in the future will drastically reduce.

That is if I can ever bring myself to write another book.

So much rides on this, but I can’t put it all on him. This is my mess.

“It’s important to me. I love my job, and I am…struggling.” The truth hurts to admit. Especially to him.

His jaw works back and forth, and he stares at me as if considering the offer. Holy shit, is he really considering it?

My heart pounds, hopefulness swirling inside me. I almost add a please, for good measure, but I’m afraid it’ll hurt my chances instead of helping.

“All I’m asking for is a day or two of your time. Then if you really want me gone, I’ll find somewhere else to stay while I edit my book.”

“Hey,” a guy on the ice says to Nick then flashes me a smile. “Sorry to interrupt.”

His gaze slides back to Nick. “Lori was asking if you could help on the two-on-two drills.”

“I’ll be right there,” Nick says, letting his arms fall to his sides.

I give them both a closed-mouth smile as the hope I was just feeling vanishes. He’s busy and I shouldn’t have come.

The guy nods, then glances from Nick to me again. “I could swap with you, if you want.” He sends the next question to me, “Anything I can help you with?”

There’s something in the guy’s tone and smile that is teasing, though I can’t figure out why.

“No thanks. I was just leaving.” I need to call Molly, buy myself a coffee the size of my head, and binge the newest episode of Hook Up Island while I figure out what to do next.

Nick’s grumpy glare returns, this time aimed at his friend.

“Wow, so it’s not just at me,” I mutter, realizing too late I’ve said the words out loud. My face heats. “Sorry. That was supposed to be an inside thought.”

The other guy laughs, freely and loudly. “I love inside thoughts, and trust me, he gives that look to everyone.”

“Good to know.”

“I’m Travis.”

“Ruby.”

“Nice to meet you, Ruby. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?” I look at Nick. I cannot imagine what he might have said. I met this girl at the airport who joked about transporting a dead body and then she showed up at my house. Turns out my dad rented the cabin to her and promised she could interview me without my knowing.

“I’m his best friend.”

“Only friend?”

Travis lets out another loud laugh. “I like you.”

“Ignore him,” Nick says to me. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m wounded,” Travis fires back with a playfulness that even eases the lines on Nick’s face.

I think I like him too.

“We should grab a drink sometime and commiserate over his moodiness,” Travis says.

I have no idea how to respond and can’t tell if he’s hitting on me or joking around. Something tells me both.

“Thanks, but I’m heading out of town today.”

“Bummer,” he says.

“Okay.” Nick motions with his hand for Travis like he’s shooing him away. “Don’t you have a camp to run? Children to corrupt?”

Travis skates backward. “Nice to meet you, Ruby.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Before he turns, Travis says to his friend, “Much better than the wanted ad.”

Nick sighs and says some things under his breath. I only catch the words "pain in my ass” and I genuinely have no idea if he means me or Travis.

“Wanted ad?” I ask.

His mouth falls in a straight line as his dark green eyes lock on me. “I appreciate that my dad put you in a weird position too, but I’m coaching this camp all week.”

“Right.” I stare out at the adorable kids, then up to where the parents are seated. And then it hits me, I am at a hockey camp. This is literally where kids come to learn hockey.

I have been so caught up in doing my research a certain way, but this could work. And bonus points for avoiding the grumpy, hockey player. Or mostly avoiding him. He can’t glare directly at me while teaching them, right?

“Well, thanks anyway,” I say when what I really mean is thanks for nothing.

I tighten my hold on my backpack and start toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Nick calls after me.

“To learn hockey.”

He’s back to glowering. “I just said?—”

“I know. You’re busy. Got it. Don’t worry. I won’t ask you a thing. I’ll just sit quietly and observe with the other spectators. Maybe I’ll pick it up by osmosis. I mean, how hard could it be?”