Page 86 of Power Play

Holy shit. She’s here. Sawyer is actually here.

And goddamn does she look fucking good.

The woman always looks amazing, but tonight it looks like she went all out. She’s wearing thigh-high boots and a blue and red Brooklyn U hockey jersey that goes just below her ass. God, I miss that ass. The jersey looks familiar, which is weird because it’s not a typical jersey, but I can’t see it well enough to figure out why.

Sawyer smiles wider when she realizes I’ve noticed her, giving me a small wave before turning back around to talk to someone. As much as I love watching her walk away, that’s not what I’m looking at right now.

As soon as she turned around, I realized why I recognized the jersey. The name on the back says Lockwood #17.

She’s wearing my jersey.

I’ve never cared about seeing a woman in my jersey until now. And right now, I’m wondering if I’m ever going to let her wear anything else ever again. If I didn’t have to go talk to media for a bit and sneak in one last quick meeting with the Ice Hawks, I would be chasing her down.

But I can’t, not yet at least.

Does this mean what I hope it means? Fuck, it’s gotta mean something that she’s wearing my jersey, right?

Time to fly through these next meetings so I can go find out for myself.

* * *

By the time I make it to the bar, it’s 9:06 p.m.

I hate being late.

Walking into the bar, I expect it to be busy, but this is another level. It feels like everyone from that entire arena has tried to pack themselves inside this fucking bar, making it difficult for me to see anyone.

Even with the crowd as dense as it is, I can hear them from here, smack dab between the pool table and the dance floor. Some of the guys spot me and wave me over.

These boys like to party. Empty bottles of champagne and tequila are scattered around the table, with a waitress currently bringing them more, along with a couple of mixed drinks that I can only assume are for their girlfriends.

Thank fuck the seasons over because they’d all be useless at practice tomorrow.

I quickly find Max and pull him aside. I’ve been keeping a secret from him, but now that the seasons over, I can finally tell him.

When we get away from the music, I turn to Max and hand him an envelope.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking confused.

“It’s an offer letter. If you’re willing to drop out of the draft, there’s an offer in that envelope to follow me to the Ice Hawks. I understand it’s not the Cyclones, but I made a deal when they recruited me. I told them I’d only be willing if they gave you a competitive offer. I like your style. It reminds me of myself.”

Max’s face is blank, not showing any emotions, like he hasn’t quite registered what I’m saying.

“Take a look at it whenever you want, but I think you’ll like what you see inside,” I tell him.

He finally cracks a cocky smile. “You wanna take me with you, huh?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, don’t get all fucking emotional on me. It’s hockey, not a slumber party. Keep your damn clothes on.”

Max gets almost giddy as he rips open the envelope, looking at his offer.

“FUCK YEAH!” he screams, fist pumping the air. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for another five years, coach.” Max smirks.

Thank fuck. I worked hard with the Ice Hawks to force them to see his worth. I made sure they came today because I had a gut feeling, and I was right. I’m excited to see where Max’s career takes him.

“Is this official? Like, as long as I sign it?” Max asks.

“Yep,” I tell him, chuckling when he signs it before running off in search of someone in the crowd, the letter still in his hand.

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