Page 9 of The Other Side of Wild
Greyson,however, doesn’t miss a beat. His response is as smooth as the ice after intermissions.
“I wouldn’t say we were struggling,” he says, voice calm but with just enough edge to remind Mr. Negativity who he’s talking to. “Sometimes takes a minute to get a feel for how the other team is going to play. Yeah, we watch films in preparation for game day, but that doesn’t mean they always play the same. That’s the beautiful part about life and the game: you can always make a change. Today, that caught us off guard, but we rectified it before a goal could be scored by the Patriots.” Mic Drop.
A few more reporters ask some questions before they call for the last one; the same woman who asked Coach Stevens his question asks, “Reed, you and Wilder had the only two goals today; how does that feel?” They both give a small chuckle, for as good as they are, they seem to be extremely humble.
Reed runs his hand through his hair before looking at Greyson to answer. “It always feels amazing to put points on the board for our team, but today, I’d have to say it felt purrrrty good. I think it’s safe to say I have a new good luck charm.”
He draws out the first part of the word to make it sound like a cat’s purr. Reed chuckles beside him while I choke back a laugh and shake my head while I return my focus to my notes. Meanwhile, Mr. Wilder looks far too pleased with himself. His face is the epitome of “mission accomplished. This man is going to make this season...interesting, that’s for damn sure.
After wrapping up the interviews, I sit outside the team training room and wait for Abby to finish her check-ins. She says this is the most essential part of her job; it’s easier to get the truth out of athletes when they’re tired and can’t hide their grimaces when she checks an area that is clearly causing them pain.
She hasthis uncanny ability to read people, too; she can tell from body language if you’re favoring one side. I remember one time in college, I hit my rib on the bleachers, and she could tell the following day that something had happened because of the way I was standing. She made me sit down so she could check it. I mean. How?
With my iPad open to my notes page, I start writing today’s stats, the two goals, their times, and who had the assists. The noise in the back halls of the arena fades into nothing but static as I focus on my work. That is until the faint sound of a bell pulls me from my thoughts. The sound grows louder until it’s right in front of me.
I glance up and have to clench my jaw to keep it from hitting the floor. Holy cannoli, Batman, did I mention how freaking gorgeous this man is?
His shaggy hair is still damp from his shower, dressed in his game-day suit that clings to him in all the right places. It should be a crime to look this good after playing an entire hockey game. The stubble on his face makes me wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. His eyes, those mesmerizing eyes, scatter my thoughts like a puck on the ice.
The corner of his mouth pulls into a devastating half-smile that could melt ice in negative temperatures. He runs his hand through his hair, and that’s when I see it: wrapped around his right wrist is the cat collar. The bell catches the light as he drops his arm back to his side; my heart dips, flips, and does the macarena at the sight.
“Kitten,” he says, his voice teasing in a way that is completely unfair.
“Dozer.” I manage to squeak out.
“Did you enjoy the game?” he asks, dropping his bag and sitting down on the floor next to me.
I gasp and instinctively grab his forearm. “Greyson, that has to be a ridiculously expensive suit. Get off the ground. You’re going to ruin it!”
The heat that meets my hand where it rests on his arm sends an unexpected jolt through me; I quickly pull my hand back and brush a stray piece of hair back behind my ear. His cheeks still have a slight flush to them; his eyes crinkle at the corners as he lets out a soft chuckle. I like the sound of it. It’s deep and raspy yet light and playful at the same time.Danger zone, Hannah.
“Your concern is sweet,” He murmurs, voice low and slow, “but trust me, I like where I’m sitting more than I like this suit.” The soft smile that plays on his face is dangerous to my health. Hello, butterflies. I feel my cheeks heat; my eyes fall to my hands, which are folded over my iPad. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Huh?” Wait, he asked me a question. “Um, yes.”
There’s a gleam in his eyes as he studies my face for a second. Then, as casually as if he were telling me the time, he says. “Perfect, I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow.” Then he gets up and wipes his hands down the side of his legs. Blinking rapidly, I will my brain to catch up to what just happened.
“Wait, what?!” I hop up from the floor fast enough that it makes my head spin. “Why are you picking me up?”
“For our lunch date, the one you just agreed to.”
I gape at him, my mind completely void of any coherent thought. He’s halfway down the hallway when he glances back at me over his shoulder, throwing a smile in my direction that should be on the cover of a magazine.
“I need to properly thank you for my new good luck charm,” he says, raising his arm and bringing my attention back to the collar wrapped around his wrist. The bell jingles softly, the sound as teasing as his tone.
Before I can find a single word to say, Greyson Wilder walks out the door, looking everything like my next heartbreak, and I’m left standing here stunned and breathless.
I’m still standing in the same spot I was when Greyson walked away when Abby walked out of the training room. “What the heck are you looking at?”
I turn to face her; my words tumble out of me like I’ve been holding my breath for days. “Greyson sat on the floor next to me in his expensive suit and somehow got me to agree to a lunch date that I don’t even remember him asking me on. Then he walked away, but not before releasing ten thousand butterflies in my stomach and making my heart soar like a pterodactyl. And then he decides he needs to properly thank me for his new good luck charm, which is the dang cat collar I got as a joke that he wore around his ankle the entire game. I mean, am I awake, or is this some weird, twisted dream the imagination station has concocted?”
I’m rambling at this point, and Abby is eating it up. “A lunch date, you say?”
“Is that all you got from this conversation?” Her entire face lights up like the sky on the Fourth of July.
“Yep!” then loops her arm through mine and all but skips us through the hallway and out the door.
My phone lights up as soon as we get in the car.