Page 18 of Power Pucking Play

The rest of the night passes in a blur of introductions and small talk. By the time things start winding down, I'm surprised to find that I'm actually enjoying myself.

I remember, as a teenager, when Sal Carmine was often referred to as a sort of "troublemaker" in the pro hockey league. He was feared and respected by all who knew him, and even those who didn't.

But now, he's just a regular guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cracking jokes with his friends.

It's almost surreal to see this side of him, but it also makes me realize that things change over time. People change. And sometimes, our perceptions of them changes too.

"So," Lexi says, sidling up to me at the bar. "Was it as bad as you thought it would be?"

I shrug. "Eh, I've had worse root canals."

"High praise from the great Gio De Luca." She pauses, hazel eyes assessing me before looking away. "Does this mean you'll do the feature?”

I consider it for a moment. I'm sure Sal Carmine had to do plenty in his day to soften his notorious reputation.

It's not too far-fetched to believe for a moment that a feature done on my own life outside of the rink might help to do the same.

"I'll think about it," I finally say, taking a sip of my drink.

Lexi nods, not pressing any further. She obviously knows better than to push me.

As we say our goodbyes and head out into the night, I can feel her watching me, her gaze like a weight on my back.

I snort. Let Lexi Brookes sweat for once. I've certainly had to do my fair share of it for her.

Chapter 6

Lexi

Two days. Two long days pass and not a word from Gio.

I've texted the man enough times to be in stalker territory.

I'd tried everything from "Hey, are you alive?" to "If you don't answer in the next ten minutes, I'll have to assume you've been kidnapped by aliens."

Nothing. Zero. Zilch.

It's not like I expected Gio to suddenly want to sit on the phone and gab and gossip like besties. But I sure as hell didn't expect complete radio silence either.

I've been doing some digging on my own since our conversation at the bar, trying to find any information, any piece of intel about his life outside of hockey that I can use for this damn feature.

But it's like he's a ghost. There are no social media accounts, no public appearances or interviews, not even any paparazzi shots.

In some ways, it's almost as if Gio De Luca doesn't exist outside of the rink.

And yet, here I am, still determined to get this story done. Because let's face it, my boss hasn't given me an extension and I'm not about to lose my job over this prickly asshole of a hockey player.

I take another sip of my coffee, staring at the blank document on my laptop screen. It's just not coming together. I have bits and pieces, but nothing that ties them all together into a cohesive story.

As if sensing my frustration, my desk phone rings. I pick it up and, sure enough, it's my boss’ voice on the other end of the line.

"Brookes. Can I see you in my office in five minutes?"

"Sure thing, Charlie." I put the phone down and let out a deep sigh.

This can't be good. I've been dreading this conversation for the last two days of no reply from Gio.

Smoothing down my skirt and grabbing my notebook, I walk down the hallway to Charlie's office. As expected, he's sitting behind his enormous desk with a stern look on his face.

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