Page 8 of Pucking Sweet

“Oh, sweet goodness,” I gasp. “That was today? For some reason, I thought she was flying in tomorrow.”

“Nope, her flight got in yesterday.”

I flick through my calendar to make sure there’s nothing else I’m missing. “I swear, the closer we get to the start of the season, time is losing all meaning for me.”

As we stand there, Caleb Sanford comes wandering out of one of the office suites. He’s one of the lead equipment managers for the team. He gives off a broody, “don’t look at me” vibe, which I’m sure just lures all the ladies in faster. Too bad he backs up the looks with an even grouchier personality. He’d be social media gold if Claribel could just get him to cooperate for the cameras. But so far, the man has proved to be more slippery than an eel.

“Is the new Barkley Fellow coming in today?” I ask him.

“Rachel? Yeah, she’s in there with Vic now,” he replies.

“She’s here?” I cry, my excitement bubbling. After going two rounds with Lukas Novikov downstairs, this is just what I need to put my day back on track.

“Pop, I gotta go,” Claribel says at my shoulder.

“Well, come right back,” I say with a distracted wave. “I want us to dive in with her announcement. All the socials. Static posts and video.”

“Got it,” she calls, slinking away between the painters.

I step past Caleb, letting myself into Vicki’s office. She gives me a smile in welcome, but I hardly notice. Dropping my heavy bag to the floor, I only have eyes for the beauty sitting in the chair opposite Vicki’s desk. I’ve seen pictures of her of course, mainly in trashy tabloids and airport fashion magazines. But she’s even prettier in person—the dark hair, the pouty lips, the mocha chocolate eyes. She looks effortlessly cool, even in her scrubs.

“Are you our new Barkley Fellow?” I say in welcome.

She stands and holds out a hand. “Yes, hi. Doctor Rachel Price.”

I wave her hand away as I step forward. “Oh, sweetie, here in the South, we hug.” I wrap her in a quick embrace, noting the sweetly spiced scent of her perfume. “I’m Poppy St. James,” I say, letting her go. “Head of PR for the Rays. And can I just say that I amsoexcited to have our team participate in the fellowship program this year? I mean, who doesn’t love good press? And when I learned that you were going to be our new fellow? Well, I just about died!” I laugh, glancing from Rachel to Vicki.

“I mean, it’s enough that you’re gorgeous andso deeply talented,” I add breathlessly. “But then I found out about your family. I mean, nothing goes with hockey quite like rock and roll, right?”

Her smile falters and she leans away.

Okay, maybe Iamlaying this on a little thick. I didn’t just “find out” she was Rachel Price and connect the dots to her famous dad. She’s Rachel Freaking Price! She’s practically American royalty. She grew up in the spotlight—concerts and movie premieres, fashion weeks, awards ceremonies.

My family is rather established too. We’re just part of the East Coast old money set. We live quieter lives, much less public. Think DC dynasty-makers, not LA icons. But Rachel and I are about the same age. We even share some mutual acquaintances. I followed all her escapades over the years—the brief modeling career in Paris, the wrecked yacht on the Amalfi Coast, the whirlwind engagement to that smarmy fashion photographer.

And those were just her teen years.

But now she’s a doctor. Her wild child days are behind her, and she’s got a bright, shiny career in sports medicine ahead. With that pretty face, and her famous father, she’ll be public relations gold for us this year.

Time to lean all the way in. “Say, do you think your daddy might be interested in coming out for a game this season?”

Her smile flickers and disappears. “Umm…you know, I’m not really sure of his schedule,” she replies noncommittally.

Vicki glances between us. “What are you two talking about?”

I turn to her. “Oh, hadn’t you heard? Our talented new Barkley Fellow has some added star power. Her daddy is Hal Price from The Ferrymen!”

Poor, sweet Vicki looks completely clueless. She must have missed the gossip train. We’ve all been humming with the news for the last two days. “Is that a band?” she asks.

I feign a gasp, clutching my chest. “A band? Vicki, they’re only one of the biggest rock bands ofalltime!” I turn back to Rachel, my hand lightly brushing her arm. “I swear, when I told my brother, he nearly fell out of his chair.”

“That’s great—”

“Say, does he ever play the national anthem?” I press. “You know, like Hendrix? Oh, wouldn’t that be amazing, Vic? The Ferrymen in our arena! Can you imagine?”

“That would be really great,” Vicki replies with a nod.

It would be more than great. We’d be able to ride the good press of that for weeks.