Page 22 of The Pucking Player

Not that it stopped Finn from calling dibs the moment Coach walked out. Guy’s either got balls of steel or rocks in his head—the jury’s still out. He’s been orbiting Jessica for months now, circling her like a nervous satellite that can’t figure out how to make contact. Pretty sure she thinks he’s got some kind of inner ear problem, given how he always manages to be around but never actually close enough to say anything.

It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so painful to watch. I mean, the guy practically needs a GPS to find his way to a simple “hello.” At least when I spotted Sophie, I went straight for it.

Now would probably be a good time to stop thinkingabout how much Sophie resembles her sister. But damn, it’s impossible not to.

I’ve faced down two-hundred-fifty-pound defensemen without flinching, but just the thought of Sophie Novak is enough to make my palms sweat. And for the first time, I’m starting to wonder if Finn, with his slow and steady orbit, might be the smarter man after all.

“This is a disaster,” Rothschild says, his voice clipped. “We’re hemorrhaging sponsors, and the press is having a field day.”

Coach slams his hand on the desk, making us all jump. “For Christ’s sake, we’ve been doing regular drug tests! The whole team pisses in cups on the daily, and we’re still the bad guys?”

I wince. Yeah, that’s definitely not my favorite part of the day.

Jessica leans forward, all business. “The problem is, the public has the attention span of a goldfish on Red Bull. They hear ‘PEDs’ and ‘Defenders’ in the same sentence, and that’s all they remember. We need to change the narrative. Stat.”

“How?” I ask, feeling the weight of the C on my jersey more than ever. “We’ve released statements, we’ve been transparent about the testing. What else can we do?”

Jessica’s eyes light up in that way that usually precedes me being volunteered for something. “We need a good story. Something to humanize the team, show that we’re more than just the guys on the ice.”

Rothschild nods, warming to the idea. “Yes, yes. Something wholesome. Family-friendly.”

After a brief silence, Jessica turns my way with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “O’Connor.”

And yep, there it is.

“You’re our captain, our star player. What if we set you up with a fresh face? Someone the public can root for?”

I blink. “You want me to date for PR?”

Coach snorts. “Because Liam O’Connor, certified playboy, is exactly who we want representing wholesome family values.”

Ouch.

Fair, but ouch.

Jessica shakes her head, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “No, not date. Just one or two appearances with someone unexpected. Someone...” She pauses, her green eyes locked on mine, gauging my reaction. I can practically see the gears turning in that PR-savvy brain of hers.

She leans forward slightly, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Someone like Sophie.”

Coach chokes on his next breath, looking like he’s about to combust. Rothschild, who was pacing like a caged lion in his Italian leather shoes, stops in his tracks.

“No fucking way,” Coach exclaims before he can get himself under control. “No way Sophie is going to date the team philanderer.” He slams his fist on his desk. “Jessica! For Pete’s sake! Come up with another idea.”

Jessica doesn’t react to Coach’s outburst. Her smirk widens, and I swear I can see a glint of mischief in her eyes.

She’s enjoying this, watching the big boys squirm.

I try to keep my face neutral, but I can feel my heart rate kick up a notch.

Jessica’s gaze flicks between me and Coach, assessing the impact. She’s like a chess master, three moves ahead and loving every second of it. I’ve got to hand it to her—the woman knows how to drop a bombshell. And I could kissher right now if I didn’t think Coach would actually murder me on the spot.

As the silence stretches, Jessica leans back in her chair. She’s just changed the game entirely. And from the way she’s looking at me, I have a feeling she knows exactly what’s going through my head.

Damn, the Novak women are going to be the death of me.

And I can’t say I mind it one bit.

“She wouldn’t date him. Just one or two public appearances would do the trick,” she proclaims calmly, owning the room.

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