Page 9 of Perfectly Grumpy

“So, what do you want to do?” I ask, sliding down the wall and angling my face against the cool surface, hoping it will help take the edge off. “Discuss how you’re going to destroy my life with more PR plans?”

Lauren crosses her arms. “First off, I’m not ruining your life. I’m trying to save your reputation in the league. And secondly—” She pauses, her brow furrowing as she studies me. “Tate, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, closing my eyes. “Nothing like being stuck in an elevator on the worst day of your career.”

She crouches in front of me. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I don’t like small spaces. And elevators have multiple failure points. Power loss, cable wear, faulty sensors. One wrong glitch and you’re stuck between floors for an undetermined length of time.” I open my eyes and look at her, trying to stem the panic storm inside me. “We could also plummet to the basement. Statistically rare. But also possible.”

She immediately drops to a seated position next to me, close enough that I catch the sweet tangerine scent of her perfume. It wraps around me, grounding me more than anything else could right now. Her face is gentle, with none of the sharp focus she wears during PR meetings. And that’s when Ireallysee her.

Not that I haven’t noticed before, but I’ve never been this close. Close enough to see the flecks of amber in her brown eyes, the curve of her ruby lips, the way her dark lashes brush her cheeks when she blinks.

She’s so stunning, it disarms me completely. For a second, I forget we’re stuck in an elevator. Forget why she’s with me. Suddenly I’m jolted back into high school, nervously talking to a pretty girl who thinks I’m a nerd. But this isn’t high school. And Lauren isn’t that girl.

I squeeze my eyes shut because thinking of Lauren isn’t slowing down my heart. It’s making it worse.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “We’re going to breathe together. That’s all you have to do.”

I crack one eye open. “Did you learn that in your official PR training?”

“No,” she admits. “I learned it from watching my sister give birth. Unfortunately, I was the one hyperventilating.”

I chuckle.

“Hey,” she says. “You just laughed. That’s progress.”

I open my eyes. “You are way too optimistic for this situation.”

“It’s my coping mechanism. I can always find a positive spin for anything.” Her gaze holds mine for a second too long before she looks around the elevator. “So, what do you want to do? Play thumb wars? Tic-tac-toe?”

“We don’t have any paper or pens,” I remind her.

“Yeah,” she says, holding up her hands with a grin. “But wedohave thumbs.”

“You’re aware mine would crush yours, right?” I show her my thumbs, easily double the size of hers.

She frowns like she’s actually calculating the odds of beating me. “Hmm. Definitely a disadvantage. It’d be like thumb-wrestling the Hulk.” Her vision drifts down to my feet and she does a double take. “Wait, are thosedogson your socks?”

“You didn’t give me time to put on my shoes.”

She sniggers. “I don’t know, Tate. This might be your most relatable look yet.”

I glance down at the socks in question—bright blue with little cartoon dogs wearing sunglasses. Not exactly hockey guy material.

“I bought them from a kid raising money for a rescue puppy,” I insist. “It was for a good cause.”

Her smile grows. “Sure.Totallyjust for the puppy.”

“And I happen to like fun novelty socks,” I add. “They bring balance to my otherwise serious life.”

She tilts her head, intrigued. “That’s surprising. A sock enthusiast hiding behind a scowling defenseman.” She looks me over. “What else don’t I know about the mysterious Sheriff Foster? And when do I get to see this collection?”

“No chance I’m inviting you to poke fun at my socks.”

Her eyes dance with amusement. “Then I guess I’ll just have to raid your sock drawer the next time I visit Jaz.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I say, smirking. “I’d know instantly if something was out of place.”

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