Page 45 of Huge Pucking Play

"I wish I could! But it gets worse." Adam wipes away a tear of mirth. "As he's falling, he grabs onto the table for balance, knocks over not one, not two, but three very expensive-looking cocktails. Directly onto Patrick Jackson's white designer shirt."

"Security appeared out of nowhere and escorted us all out. Patrick Jackson was surprisingly cool about it, but his entouragewas furious." Adam shakes his head. "Trevor's convinced he'll never be allowed in another New York club as long as he lives."

"That's possibly the best celebrity encounter story I've ever heard," I say, still giggling.

"Enough about my disaster friends. Anything exciting going on with you?"

The question catches me off-guard despite its predictability. I hesitate, running my finger around the rim of my mug. I hadn't planned on telling anyone about my night with Garrett, but I’m about to bust.

"Actually..." I start, lowering my voice despite the empty break room. "I may have had an interesting night last night."

Adam's eyes widen with instant interest. "Yes, girl. Spill."

I feel a flush creeping up my neck. "I went to Garrett’s place last night."

"And?" Adam prompts when I pause.

"It's incredible, Adam. Like something out of a magazine. He has this view of the lake that makes you want to cry, and the whole place is so...adult. No IKEA furniture in sight."

"I'm already jealous," Adam says. "But I sense there's more to this story than real estate porn."

I bite my lip, fighting a smile. "Let's just say we christened his bathtub. It's this massive soaker tub with jets, and he has these bath salts that smell like heaven, and?—"

Before I can finish the sentence, the break room door bangs open with enough force to rattle the sad little ficus plant by the window. Marjorie stands in the doorway, her steel-gray bob with ruler-straight bangs framing a face set in what appears to be a permanent scowl. Her bright red lipstick looks like a fresh wound against her pale skin, and her eyes—sharp as scalpels—lock directly onto me.

My words evaporate mid-sentence.

"Cynthia." Marjorie pronounces my name like it's a diagnosis of some rare disease. "I need to see you in my office immediately."

"Is something wrong?" I ask, setting down my mug with a hand that isn't quite steady.

Marjorie's nostrils flare slightly. "We’ll talk in my office about it. And immediately means as soon as possible, Cynthia. Not after you finish your social hour." Her gaze flicks dismissively to Adam, then back to me.

Without waiting for a response, Marjorie pivots on her heel and strides away. The door swings shut behind her, but her presence lingers like a harsh hospital disinfectant.

"Holy shit," Adam finally whispers, breaking the spell. "What was that about?"

I slump back against the couch, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I have no idea."

"She looked extra murdery today," Adam says, eyeing the door as if Marjorie might burst back through it. "I think her lipstick was a shade redder than usual. Probably from drinking the blood of junior staff members."

I laugh. "Seriously though, I can't think of what I've done wrong."

But even as I say it, a possibility slides into my mind like a cold needle. Garrett. What if someone saw us together? What if word got back to Marjorie?

The thought makes my stomach clench. Dating a coach isn't explicitly forbidden in her contract—I’ve checked, thoroughly—but workplace relationships are complicated enough without adding the power dynamics of the hockey organization into the mix. And Marjorie, with her rigid adherence to what she considers professional boundaries, would definitely disapprove.

I take a deep breath and stand up. My legs feel slightly unsteady, like I’ve just finished a tough workout. "I better go. The last thing I should do is keep her waiting."

Adam stands too, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "Want me to create a distraction? I could pull the fire alarm."

I laugh, shaking my head.

"You got this, girl. Look her in the eye. Stand your ground. Remember you're good at your job. And if all else fails, compliment her lipstick. That shade of 'just devoured a small child' really brings out her eyes."

"You're terrible," I say, but I’m smiling.

"That's why you love me." Adam gives me a little push toward the door. "Go get 'em, tiger. I'll be here waiting with emergency chocolate when you're done."

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