Page 3 of Game On

Dorian waved a hand, his knee bouncing. “Totally fine. I’ve got this. Put me in the game, Coach.”

Mark blew out a laugh. “That’s funny, coming from you. Have you ever even played hockey?”

“Sure I have.”

Mark didn’t need to know that it’d only been for one season when he was six.

And besides, knowledge of hockey hadn’t been part of the job requirements, so what did it matter, anyway?

“Did you?” Mark said. “Huh. I should’ve asked during your interview, but I was more concerned with your design and social media background. Anyway. Let’s do this.” He turned the laptop back around. “Why don’t you hand off the rest of those NHL interviews you’re cutting to Stanley and?—”

“What? Why?” The suggestion was like a punch to the gut. Hand his work over? Not even on his deathbed. Didn’t Mark know he could do this? “I’ll have those done within the next couple of days and then I can get started on the Orcas intro videos. Have them ready in time for early April and get the fans excited for the playoffs.”

“You’re assuming the Orcas make the playoffs.”

Dorian scoffed. “They’re first in their division. We both know they’ll make it.” He rose and buttoned his deep purple velour blazer.

“You heading out for the day?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to get Jamieson’s room ready, and after that, I’ll finish up a few outstanding things, including those graphics for the fifty-fifty draw that I owe you.”

“Jamieson?” Mark frowned, wrinkling his forehead. “Jamie Jamieson? The Orcas’ new trade? He’s staying with you?”

“Temporarily, until he finds his own place. Matt didn’t want to give him one of the sterile apartments the organization has on retainer.” That’d be Dorian’s cousin and head coach of the Orcas, Matt Shore. “He wanted Jamie rooming with someone from the organization so he wouldn’t be alone in a new city.”

“Why’s he rooming with you and not one of his new teammates?”

Dorian shrugged. “Beats me. I’ll ask him at the same time I ask him if Jamie Jamieson is actually his real name.”

Mark chuckled and waved him away. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow. And be nice to your new roommate.”

“I’m always nice.”

Mark’s laughter followed him all the way back to his desk.

* * *

“This is it.”

At Coach Matt Shore’s voice, Jamie Jamieson lifted his gaze from his phone and glanced out the car window. “The cream one?”

Coach grunted and parked at the curb. “The only house on the block without some kind of flower bed or landscaping. Dorian’s a lot of things; gardener isn’t one of them.”

Grabbing his backpack, Jamie stepped out of the car and into a wet and frigid February day. Not that it’d been warm when he’d left Charlotte this morning, but the cold in Vancouver was almost bone-deep. Shivering, he zipped his jacket and plunked his Charlotte Cobras ball cap on his head.

Technically, he shouldn’t be wearing it considering he was an Orca as of twenty-four hours ago, but he didn’t have any Orcas swag yet, and the Cobras hat was perfectly worn in and comfortable.

Also his last tie to his life in Charlotte, which he’d fled without a second thought. He should probably burn the hat under the light of the full moon or something so he didn’t bring the bad juju with him across time zones to the West Coast.

He didn’t know why he’d brought it, to be honest. This was supposed to be his fresh start. He didn’t need reminders of the last soul-sucking six months.

Coach Shore, dressed in a light windbreaker because apparently the cold didn’t affect him, popped the trunk of his electric-blue SUV. “You sure travel light for someone who just moved across the country,” he said in that gruff voice of his. He pulled Jamie’s carry-on and duffel out of the trunk and set both down on the sidewalk.

“These are just the essentials. The rest of my stuff’s still at my place in Charlotte.” Though he’d left the expensive stuff—like his car, random bits of jewellery, and electronics—with one of the few Cobras who hadn’t bought into all the bullshit of the past six months.

Jamie stuck out a hand. “Thanks for picking me up at the airport, Coach.”

Coach stared at him with those dark-as-night eyes. At his hand. At the house behind him. “I’ll walk you in. Make sure you get settled.”

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