Page 8 of The Goalie

And Nolan is the sexiest of them all.

“What’s the dress code?” I ask.

“Fancy,” Dad says. “Black ties and nice dresses.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” I say with a firm nod. I can’t pass up seeing Nolan Barlowe in a fitted suit. That will definitely be worth all the trouble.

“Really?” Dad says, lighting up. “Thank you so much, sweetheart!”

He runs over and hugs me.

Mom yanks off the blankets and gets out of bed.

“Come on, Grace,” she says as she waves me over to her closet. “I’ll help you pick out a dress before my eyes swell completely shut.”

CHAPTER THREE

Nolan

Just when I think I’m rich, I see something like this and realize there’s a whole other level of wealth.

My mouth drops as I step out of my Porsche and stare at the humongous yacht in the distance. This is wealth. This is crazy.

It’s like a sideways skyscraper floating on the water.

I slip on my jacket and fix my tie while looking at my reflection in the car window. I look pretty damn good if I say so myself.

There are so many people lined up on the pier waiting to walk into the yacht. Everyone is dressed to impress. Designer suits, tuxedos, sparkling red dresses—beautiful women galore. This is the place to be tonight.

Most people are coupled up, which makes me think I should have probably brought a date. But who could I have brought?

All of the women I’ve met since I moved to San Antonio are only interested in me because I’m a hockey player or because I’m loaded. They couldn’t care less about my personality. Slip another guy into my pads and give him my bank account and these girls wouldn’t even notice. They wouldn’t even care. They’d be interested in him and I’d be invisible.

The guys call these kinds of girls puck fuckers. I call them a waste of time.

I slip into the line behind a good-looking couple in their forties. It’s a beautiful night, cloudless and not too hot, which is a nice change from the sweltering San Antonio heat.

A pretty waitress in a short black dress walks along the pier and hands out champagne flutes. I take one with a thank you and sip it as the line moves.

The yacht looks even bigger from down here.

I guess I’m going to meet the owner—of the yacht and the team—Brantley VanMorgan. I mean, I’ve met him briefly and seen him around the building a couple of times, but I haven’t had a one-on-one conversation with the man.

But I’ve done my research. He’s incredible.

This man is into everything. He started a mining company with a shovel and sold it for 1.3 billion dollars. After that, he got into satellites and founded a company that launched them into space. That company sold for four billion. And since then, he’s been a philanthropist, a semi-celebrity, and an angel investor in a ton of start-ups, some that hit the mega jackpot. This man attracts money like a magnet.

He is currently worth twenty-six billion dollars. I heard that he reached into his jacket and wrote a check for the Hyenas like he was paying for lunch. It was pocket change to him at only nine hundred million dollars.

“Nolan!” a familiar voice rings out. I turn around and see Austin walking over with his new girlfriend Norah. He’s all cleaned up in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. She’s looking great in a sparkly red dress with her brown hair tied up into a fancy bun.

We say our hellos and then start talking about the phenomenal yacht.

“Have you guys ever been on a yacht like this before?” Norah asks as she looks up at it in awe.

“I’ve been on my uncle Lou’s rowboat,” Austin says as he stares up. “I think it could fit in one of the bathrooms.”

“There are probably only about twelve yachts on the planet this big,” I say as we take a few steps forward.

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