Page 23 of Striking Heat

“See, I know a thing or two.”

“I never said you didn’t.”

She just shrugs and watches me as I finish my first taco. Twoof hers are gone, but based on how satisfied she looks right now, she could finish that whole plate and ask for more and I wouldn’t think twice about it.

Pausing, she asks, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

I fake that her words have wounded me. “I’m always nice.”

“Uh-huh, we’ll just pretend that’s true.”

I stop eating mid-bite. There’s been something on the tip of my tongue since we left Cromwell’s office. I’ve got to say it. “Look, I wouldn’t actually print anything that you didn’t want me to. Please know that. I may have had a little fun with you in the pressroom, but I won’t do that in this article.”

“Why are you doing this again? What is the real reason, not whatever you’ve fed August.”

I sit back and consider telling her that I believe in this team. But she would see right through it, and I actually don’t. Not yet anyway.

“Because I get what August is feeling. He’s living in his father’s shadow, and eventually this team is going to be his. Maxwell just wants to make sure that the first season goes well, and then he’s going to hand it over. August wants something he can own, so this has to succeed so that he has something that is his.”

That earns me an eye roll. “Yeah, which daddy built.” She snickers at her own comment.

“I’m sure he wants to do well on his own merit.”

“Then maybe he should buy the Knicks or something. To really set himself apart from his father.”

“That’s not what he’s going to do. He’s going to work on making the Blaze a success. He has some good ideas too.”

“Okay,” she says in a mocking tone.

I decide not to say anymore because I imagine that this is what happens when people talk about me and what I’m doing, although I’m setting myself apart more than August is. At least I’m trying to. But I think that’s also part of why we got along sowell last night the bar. He gets it. He’s heard all the same criticisms that I have.

We eat mostly in silence because mostly I’m not sure what to say to her and she messes around on her phone.

“So, when does the interview crap start?” Mac asks me. I don’t need to look at her; to know she’s rolling her eyes.

“Ah, there’s the sass I’ve come to know.”

“Whatever. Seriously, are you going to follow us on the road?”

“Probably for some of it, as long as the paper is okay with it. Pays the bill and all that, I will. I’ll also need to talk to teammates and trainers. I’ll be like a second skin to you.” My voice drops an octave on the last sentence, and she stiffens.

What I wouldn’t give to be a second skin on her. To have her skin pressed against mine.

Fuck. I have to stop having these thoughts. This woman can be so infuriating; she’s not someone for me.

But it certainly is fun to play with her.

Chapter Eleven

~MAC~

It’s our first away game as a team. We travel together, but on a commercial airline. There aren’t any fancy airplanes like the NHL and other national sports teams get. No, we sit in the same waiting areas, go through the same security checkpoints, and board the same planes that we board when we’re visiting relatives or heading on vacation.

Except we do it in style.

Each player is wearing a navy-blue tracksuit with the Blaze’s logo on the chest and our last names on the opposite side. I’m excited to be traveling with the team. I have jitters like it’s the first day of school. I have my Starbucks cold brew in hand, and I’m ready to board the flight. It’s been a rough few days with practice, and my sleep hasn’t been the best, so I’m on edge.

“Hello there, travel mate,” a voice behind me says. It sounds like velvet. We haven’t talked in a while. It’s Wednesday morning and it’s early. We had lunch on Monday, which was weird and very civil. Now he’s here in the airport and standing there like he just made a perfect runway walk.