Page 68 of Playmaker

“But talking about how you lost at the end. That must be tough, rehashing it all the time.”

I looked over her shoulder at the planes sitting on the tarmac. “It’s shitty. But the only way to get over it is to start playing again and win it all this time.”

“How do you not blow up at people blaming you for it?”

“I did make the pass Minnesota intercepted. And if I acted like an asshole, people wouldn’t want to buy the products I endorse, and I’d lose out. So, it’s worthwhile to be nice.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s more than that though.”

I focused on her again. “I am one of the luckiest people on the planet, to get to do what I love and be paid and celebrated for it. I refuse to whine about something so many people wish they had.”

Callie fidgeted with the glass in front of her. “If I did something, like yell at one of these people bothering you, would it reflect badly on you?”

Why was I so happy that she was worried about harming my reputation? “Don’t worry about this. You’re not going to go off on anyone, and we’re just catching a flight. You’ve handled Benson, and the people at Briarwood, so you can handle this.”

She cocked her head. “I think that’s our flight they’re calling.”

She grabbed her carry-on and we headed for our gate. There were no hockey fans nearby, or if they were, they didn’t speak to us. We got to board first and settled in our priority seats. I held back a grin at the way Callie touched the goodies on offer and eyed the amount of space we had. The flight attendant in first class widened her eyes when she saw me, but she didn’t say anything.

Once we were in the air and had been offered beverages, Callie turned to me. “So, prepare me for your family.”

“You’ll have a lot in common. They’re almost all lawyers. My sister is an investment analyst, and she’s marrying a lawyer.”

She glanced out the window then turned back. “Why didn’t you become a lawyer too?”

“I’m a dumb jock.”

“Bullshit.”

I raised my brows. “I play hockey for a living, and I pose in my underwear.”

“I have no idea how much intelligence is required to pose in your underwear, but you have to use your brain to play hockey.”

“Believe me, not everyone who plays hockey is a member of Mensa.”

“Neither is every lawyer, based on some of the shit I’m given to review. But your team practices plays and studies other teams and players, don’t they? Maybe everyone isn’t a genius, but you’re smart.”

It felt good to hear her say that, because a lot of people saw my face, my body and my career and assumed I wasn’t intelligent. “Why do you think I’m smart?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

“Not really. My family will challenge your opinion.”

“I deal with intelligent people and morons and all the variations in between. I can tell the difference.”

“They’re well entrenched in their beliefs. Your opinion alone won’t impress them.”

“Maybe you should show them your portfolio.”

It took me a minute to respond. How did— “How do you know about my portfolio?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know any details, but I know you have one. You play hockey for millions of dollars, have those endorsements you were talking about, pay way too much for clothes, have stupid expensive cars and a penthouse condo.”

“I could be spending everything I have on that.”

“But you aren’t, because you’re not an idiot.”

I laughed. She might not have proved her point in logic, but she was right. I did have a healthy portfolio and could support myself in the lifestyle I enjoyed for the rest of my life. I played hockey now because I loved it. I loved having a team, fans, money and driving my family crazy. Why would I stop?

---