Page 61 of Wrong Score

Jordan leans in and bumps her shoulder against mine, her smile softening. "Well, you don’t have to decide that right now. But if you do really like him—and it sounds like you do—you owe it to both of you to be upfront. No more dancing around each other. Just talk to him."

She might be right but Bex told me that he doesn’t have any more to give and I have to respect that. Besides, I have a job to do too, and my boss is about to have an aneurysm if I don’t give him a story.

“There will be time after the Hawkeyes win the Stanley Cup. I have a job to do and a promotion to earn.”

Jordan wrinkles her nose and scrunches up her lips. She doesn’t like that answer but it’s all I have. Bex isn’t exactly offering me a relationship. In fact, he already said that he’s incapable of it.

“Then you'd better get packing. And take some normal clothes will you? If you get time, you should go see some sights. You said the last away game is in Vancouver and I’ve heard it is beautiful there."

"Smart thinking,” I agree. “Juliet will be in town and her sister-in-law is the one that put on the art auction at the gala a while back. I was thinking about asking her if she’d be interested in co-hosting a show with The Painted Easel sometime. Bex’s brother Leo is wanting to branch out with the magazine."

"Ugg," she groans, “that’s work. I meant for fun.”

“It is fun.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine well I have to leave and check on the new assistant manager I just hired at the hotel. I’ll see you later,” she says. "Oh, and Ro?"

"Yeah?" I say, turning up to look at her.

"Next time you sleep with the ‘hot coach’, I strongly suggest you use protection. I think that man is subconsciously trying to knock you up."

I groan, chucking a sock at her as she cackles down the hall.

As soon as she’s gone, I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling once more. She might be right that I need to be honest with Bex about how I’m feeling but I can’t do it now. I need to stay on task just like he is. We both have a job to do, and I for one, am going to do mine.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rowan

The last few days on the road with the team have been busy, jumping from city to city, the Hawkeyes fighting for each win and coming out victorious. And each place we go, Bex finds out where I’ll be and leaves his jacket for me.

We share glances here and there but we both have teams relying on us to do our jobs. And with Charles on me about this story, I feel the guilt creeping up my neck. There’s no story that I could tell that Bex would approve of, I already know that. There’s no piece puffy enough to get away Scot-free from his scowl. Any article I write could be the end of anything that was starting to grow between us.

Yet, my notebook keeps filling with more and more pages of little tidbits that I learn about him.

At the team’s usual dinner after the game, I overhear Bex talking to Seven about staying another night in Vancouver

“I won’t be on the flight tonight morning with the team. I’m staying overnight.”

Seven raises his eyebrows, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “Got yourself some plans, Coach?”

Bex only shakes his head, a barely-there smile on his face at what Seven is insinuating. Whatever his plans are, he isn’t sharing them with the rest of us.

And it shouldn’t matter to me. I mean, it doesn’t matter to me. I have no claim over his plans, his whereabouts, or his decisions. But somehow, knowing he’s staying—unexpected, unplanned—has me curious.

Just then, my phone buzzes in my lap. I check the screen—Charles.

I excuse myself from the table and step outside, where the crisp Vancouver air nips at my bare arms in only a shirt. It’s April and thus hard to predict the weather. I left my jacket inside the restaurant but hopefully this won’t take long.

I swipe to answer. “Hi, Charles, I’m still working on it, I promise.”

“Working on it?” His voice is a mix of impatience and authority. “Rowan, I need that interview with Townsend—tomorrow. And before you say he won’t be in town, I already know he’s staying overnight.”

I’m speechless. “He didn’t tell me…”

“Hold on,” he snaps, cutting me off, and I hear him bark some commands to his assistant before he returns to me. “Check your email.”

The notification dings just as he says it, and my stomach sinks as I read the message on my screen. A new hotel reservation, extended flight, all arranged by Charles.

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