Page 34 of See You at the Finish Line

Looking at the choices laid out on the couch, I blow out a deep breath. I will not only be choosing an outfit but the personality to go along with it.

First, there’s the super fun “yoga instructor vibe” with flared leggings (a.k.a. the original yoga pants), blue of course, and a tie-dye, blue-green, long-sleeve athletic shirt with cutouts in the back. I laid it out because Leah told me to. But there is no way in hell I’m going to draw that much attention to myself on the first day. Neon, hippy yoga pants do not scream professional.

Which brings me to my second choice: the always appropriate, stretchy, dark grey dress pants. They make my butt look great, but I do look like a librarian who goes to the gym during lunch break. I’ve paired it with a more informal top to counter the formality of the pants. It’s simple, a loose-fitting, navy blue, high-neck tank top that I’ll tuck into my high-waisted pants like the millennial I am. The outfit is a little boring, a bit unassuming. No one will be able to tell what job I have, or what kind of personality I have. Leah hates it.

And that leaves the third outfit, the one I knew I was going to pick from the beginning. I only laid out the other two so that my sister would feel included in the process. She used to help me pick out my clothes all the time, and I know it’s killing her not to get an opinion on every one of my life choices now that we don’t live together.

I pull on the tight black running leggings. They fit me like a glove, which is why I own ten pairs of the exact same pants. They’re my favourite and they, too, make my butt look great. I throw on my favourite racerback tank top, one I also have many of. Of course, it’s black, as is the zip-up athletic jacket I have for over top. Can’t go wrong with black on black on black. Except for my shoes. Those are a bright neon blue.

Q, ever helpful, saunters over to collect my sneakers from the door. Before she can get there, I race over and grab the shoes so she won’t slobber all over them. It’s the only bit of running I’ve done in two years.

I apply my basic makeup routine, just enough to cover the evidence of my morning cry and the dark circles under my eyes from years of sleepless nights. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I throw my hair into a ponytail, making it a little classier by tying a knot at the base and wrapping some hair around to hide the elastic.

It’s one of my favourite styles—both elegant and versatile. The best part is it only takes me five minutes. I kneel to pet Q, needing some reassurance. She almost knocks me over and I not-so-reluctantly sit my ass down on the floor and snuggle her giant body.

My nervous system calms as I breathe in her scent and tell myself over and over again: I am safe. Q whines when I bring her to her crate. I feel bad—she had free range at Leah’s house—but since I don’t own this apartment, I can’t risk her ruining anything.

Once I have my own place, she’ll be able to run as free as she’d like. I was never a fan of nice things anyway.

Except for these leggings. I should probably take out an insurance policy on them. At the door, I rip off the top piece of the lint roller and give myself a good brushing down.

I’m glad Q’s coat is dark brown, but it still sticks to me. I’d rather not be trying to subtly pick dog hair off my clothes today—can’t let them see what a hot mess I am on the first day. With one last quick look in the mirror, I grab my keys and umbrella and head out, ready to take on this new day at my dream job.

“Welcome!” a voice boomsat the three of us gathered in the lobby. Maxim and Demitri welcome us to the training facility for the Whales.

They take us on a tour of the building, pointing out the offices that house the team’s doctors, dentist, and health and wellness staff. They show us around our main area, which we share with the physiotherapists.

A single physiotherapist comes to mind. I hold my breath walking into the room, trying not to look for he-who-shall-not-be-named. The evil physiotherapist. Yes, it is evil not to text someone back.

I let out a breath of relief. There are no familiar faces among the physios.He’snot here. What are the odds that he’d be working here? It’s silly of me to even think of him.

Demitri shows us the massage rooms and we learn that the three of us will be sharing one office. That alone doesn’t bode well for thehiring process, especially paired with the fact that that office only has two tables.

“Time to meet some of the other staff!” Maxim exclaims as he leads us to the coaching area. “You’ll be able to meet the players later at the welcome mixer with the team tonight!” His fake enthusiasm is already grating on my nerves.

“Does he think this is summer camp?” the man beside me whispers. I try to hide my laugh, but he sees my struggle and beams at me. “I’m Connor.”

“Paige.” I give him my name and my hand when he reaches out. His grip is firm and my hand tingles when he releases me. God, when was the last time someone touched me?Not the time, Paige, I remind myself.

“Nice to meet you, Paige,” Connor says in a conspiratorial whisper.

“What are you guys talking about?” the other new massage therapist in front of us asks while Maxim is distracted by someone in the hallway.

“Just introducing ourselves,” Connor answers.

“Why? We’re each other’s competition.”

“We all got hired, it’s not a competition anymore,” I reply on behalf of Connor, whose cheeks flush.

“Didn’t you read the email? They’re going to fire at least one of us, Blue,” he says. We’re now tuning out Maxim giving us the rules of hockey like we don’t know that we’re working for a hockey team and thus must have some sort of passion for the sport.

“Blue?”

His eyes flick down to my shoes. Apparently, wearein high school. I roll my eyes and give him the finger.

Maxim coughs, catching the tail end of our exchange. Shit. He’s standing outside the coaching offices.

Gone is his jovial tone. “Are you ready? The coaches will be your first massage clients.”

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