“Well, I still don’t believe in it.” She shrugs. “But I’ll do it.”
“I love this.” Joran nods at Saige. “Open the bottle and throw it in his face.”
“You’re in agreement?” I ask him.
I look at Joran and he shrugs. “Why not? I think it’s great if it gets your game back.”
Saige is quiet a moment. Even though I don’t know all her expressions, I’d say right now, she’s slightly pissed off. “You think it’s great that I might have to travel around with Aiden until this season is over?”
Joran nods. “Why wouldn’t I? Whatever gets my number one man back on his game. That’s all that matters.” He clamps me on the shoulder and beams.
Saige tilts her head. “So you’re cool with me spending time with Aiden?”
Joran must finally hear it in her voice and his eyes narrow a bit. “Am I supposed to be jealous?”
“I don’t know, I’d think that maybe you’d be a little concerned. He is a professional hockey player and it’s not like he’s bad to look at.”
My ego inflates a little and I will say I don’t hate it. Maybe these feelings aren’t one-sided.
“Saige, it’s not like—” Joran starts.
She shakes her head and cracks open the wine bottle. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Joran Peters, get the fuck out of my locker room area!” Coach Vittner yells from down the hall.
“Coach,” Joran says with that fake adoration in his voice. He walks over to Coach, leaving Saige and me alone.
She’s ready to throw the wine in my face, but I place my hand on hers and wait for her to look me in the eye. “Thank you. I didn’t want to pressure you.”
She laughs softly. “I didn’t want to be the reason you lost.”
“So maybe you do believe in superstitions.” I raise an eyebrow.
She chuckles. “I’d rather be the reason you’re winning than the reason you’re losing.”
I swear she’s talking in code and there’s a lot more underneath that sentence than she’s telling me.
I stuff my hands in the pockets of my slacks. “Do your worst.”
She laughs and throws the wine bottle toward my face. Not nearly the normal amount of wine comes out, so she continues to do it until the small bottle is empty.
“Let’s hope the cheap stuff works just as well as the expensive stuff,” I say while I wipe my eyes.
She looks at the bottle. “This is the most expensive they had. Good luck tonight. I’m going on record as saying you didn’t need me to do this.”
I lean forward, my hands still in my slacks, my tongue sliding out to lick the sweetness dripping from my face. “Then why are you here?”
Our eyes lock and neither of us looks away. For a moment, it’s just us in that hallway.
“Drake, get your ass in the locker room!” Coach screams. “Joran, take your girlfriend and go back to the suite. I feel like I’m back coaching at the college level.” He disappears into the locker room.
Joran laughs and points at me. “Looks like it’s all handled?”
I nod. “Thanks, Saige,” I say, hoping she hears my sincerity.
“Have a great game,” she says with a smile.
Joran holds out his fist to me. “Knock ‘em on their asses.”
We fist-bump, then Joran slides his hand into Saige’s. I watch them walk down the hallway while my chest constricts painfully. I head back into the locker room to find Maksim already getting his change of guards from Tyler outside the bathroom. He raises his hand to high-five me, seeing that my shirt is now soaked.
“Another time.” I decline since he’s just come out of the bathroom. Who knows what other superstitions he has?
I quickly get my gear on, thinking about how I can’t help but like Saige even more now that she sought me out to make sure she could dump the drink on me. It says a whole lot about her and the fact I can trust her with my social media. So tomorrow, I’ll open myself up to the piranhas of fandom once more. Hopefully I don’t land in court again.
Chapter Eight
Saige
The office is dead silent because Tedi is running late. Her personality fills the space when she’s here.
I’m sitting at my desk, stewing after last night. The Fury won their game and Aiden scored two goals. At one point, I swear he looked at me in the suite, but it could have been my imagination. It has to be my imagination. Although on New Year’s I felt that pull toward him, felt that he had some interest, I’m sure it was only to get in my pants. Now he just needs me to throw a drink in his face.
There’s a knock on the door, and since I’m the only one here, I walk over and peek through the side glass. Aiden stands there with a folder in his hand, wearing low-slung jeans and a T-shirt with an open hoodie. His hair is styled to a messy perfection, and those dark eyes are smiling at me. God, he looks like he could be in a high-end jeans ad. It makes it hard not to stare.
I open the door and welcome him in. “Is there a game today?”
I walk back to my desk, fully aware I’m giving him a view of my ass that’s snug in my pants because of the amount of junk food I’ve been consuming from stress eating over his proposal.
“No. I go on the road in three days, so I wanted to sit down and discuss some things with you.”
I slide out my chair and sit down, motioning with my hand for him to do the same across from me.
“No Tedi today?” he asks.
“She’s running late.”
“Another fuck-it bucket list item scratched off last night?” He smirks at me, and I can’t help but smile back.
“She’s a rare breed, but she’s also the best friend a girl could have.”
“I figured that out when she titty-twisted Ford’s nipple.”
We share a laugh. What would I do without Tedi?
“Great game last night,” I say to break the tension.
“Thanks. I guess the drink throwing did the trick again. How was the suite?”
“Well, all the food and drinks you can consume and the people below looking up at you with envy.” I shrug. “But honestly, I’d much rather be in the stands. Everyone up in the suite is just schmoozing and hardly watching what’s happening on the ice except when a goal is scored.” It’s not like I’m a die-hard hockey fan but if I’m there, I want to watch the game.
“I figured. I’d rather be with the fans too. I feed off of their energy.”
I don’t mention that I noticed that when Tedi and I sat in the first row. Aiden and some of his teammates actually communicate with fans. Either to read their signs, or give a puck to a little kid, or razz another player. It’s endearing and makes them less like idols and more like everyday people.
“They love you.”
“As long as I keep scoring they will.” There’s something more under those words, but he clears his throat before I’m willing to ask. “Anyway, I’m here with a proposition for you.”
I lean back in my chair. “Another proposition?”