Page 64 of Crossing the Top Line

“I can introduce you to him now, if you want,” I suggest.

Before he can answer, I’m on my feet, and I look behind me to make sure he follows as I weave through the tables toward the crowd starting to form a queue for the lunch buffet. I spot Logan right away, toward the back of the line, talking with one of the assistant coaches. Seeming to sense my approach, he looks up, catching my eye and giving me a soft smile. As my father and I close the distance, I notice the double takes and nudges from the guys, but I push them aside with practiced ease.

“Hey, Tori. How’s it going?” Logan greets, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“Good. I wanted to introduce you to someone. Dad, this is Logan McQueen. Logan, this is Jack Strauss,” I say, motioning between them.

Logan nods politely, extending one hand, which Dad shakes. There’s a beat of silence when they seem to size each other up, and I contain my eyeroll. Alphas, I swear to God.

“Nice to meet you, Coach. Tori was telling me about the good work you’ve been doing with the Mystic so far this season,” Dad starts, slipping into his interviewer voice again.

“She’s been generous, I’m sure,” Logan replies, and I swear I see his cheeks pinkening.

They go back and forth for a few minutes about the changes he’s made to the team’s system and playbook, and I glance around. More people are starting to notice me and Dad. This isn’t the first time he’s been here, but it’s rare for the national broadcast team to interact with the players and coach beyond what’s strictly necessary.

“There you are, Tori!”

I turn at the sound of my name, grinning despite myself as Eli comes bounding over, a full plate of food in his hands. His gap-toothed smile is wide as his eyes flick around my face, and flush of heat rushes through me.

“You aren’t at our table. Have you gotten your lunch yet?” he asks once he’s within polite conversation distance.

I shake my head, turning back to my dad, only to find him looking at Eli with assessing eyes. For his part, Eli either doesn’t notice the stare or is choosing to ignore it. His attention is still completely fixed on me.

“I haven’t yet. I wanted to introduce my dad to Coach,” I say, tripping over my words as I try to get them in order.

Eli looks up at my dad’s face, his friendly grin not faltering for a moment as he shifts his plate to one hand and holds out the other to shake.

“Elijah Jokinson, sir. Your daughter does incredible and invaluable work for the team. Don’t know what we’d do without her,” he says, sincerity dripping from every syllable.

I roll my eyes and wave a dismissing hand. “Eli—”

“No, he’s right. We can play the best game of hockey every time our skates hit the ice, but if you didn’t get asses in seats, no one would ever see it,” Logan interjects warmly.

I look at him, stomach fluttering and face hot. I open my mouth to respond, but no words come.

“That’s high praise, coming from you guys. I haven’t had a chance to keep up with her work as much as I’d like, but—”

“To be fair, she does post a lot. I’m surprised she’s not on her phone right now,” Eli jokes, throwing me a teasing smirk.

I shove him playfully, huffing out a sigh of exasperation. But Logan and Dad laugh at his joke, which softens me. Dad goes to speak, but someone from his team comes up and starts a conversation, pulling his attention away. Eli gives me a sly wink while he’s distracted before handing me his plate.

“Oli’s looking for you, too. Says he needs to eat with his good luck charm,” he mutters, leaning a little closer to speak into my ear.

I look down and realize the plate isn’t full of the protein and carbs he usually opts for, but instead has servings of what I would have picked for myself. I give him an incredulous look, but he doesn’t give me a chance to answer before walking away to rejoin the queue.

“Hey, Chip. I’ve got a few things to handle before I can eat. Save me a seat with you?” Dad says quickly, turning to me with an apologetic smile.

I nod, and he gives my shoulder a squeeze before heading off toward the entrance to the ice. I sigh and roll my shoulders back before looking at Logan. His assistant coach has started talking again, but those dark green eyes are fixed on my face, sparking with embers that bring me back to our moment in the elevator not too long ago. Motes of intention, desire, pride, and something else I don’t dare name.

I turn on my heel and hurry toward the corner table Eli, Oli, and I have adopted as our own, trying my best to de-flush my face before my father can come back.

The next few hours fly by, most of it spent with my father catching up on life since the last time we saw each other. Mom has taken up crocheting as her Hobby of the Month, so I should expect at least a few handmade gifts for Christmas this year. Doug and his mate, my next-door neighbors growing up, moved out a few months ago, and Aunt Connie is in a feud with the new occupants over the lilac bush on the property line. My youngest cousin, Devin, just got his invitation to attend the USA Hockey’s National Team Development Program tryout next year, which has everyone in the family over the moon. I tell him about my Behind the Number interview series, and the outreach opportunities I’ve got on my calendar, and about the house I bought last year all on my own.

I could talk to my dad for hours and never get bored, but alas, we both have jobs to do. As we’re about to part for the evening, Dad stops me with a gentle hand on my wrist.

“I’ve got to do a few interviews during the game. Who should I pull aside?” he asks.

I consider for a moment, heart jumping a little. He usually comes here with an idea of what his broadcast is going to look like, but he’s asking me for my opinion. Myprofessionalopinion. And there’s a newfound respect in his eyes that I don’t know if I’ve ever seen before.

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