Page 27 of Second-Rate Superstar

“Well, we don’t want that.” Leading her to center ice, I gestured to the Comets insignia beneath our feet. “This is center ice. You can see the red line cutting through it. This is where all the initial face-offs take place.” She gave me a blank look, so I amended, “Where they drop the puck between two players. It also happens here after goals. There are red dots around the ice where they occur other times.”

Dakota peeked around, using a free hand to mentally mark where they were.

Skating together, we reached the blue line. “Like the red line, the blue line is aptly named for its color. But there are two of them, one on each side. They designate zones. Inside of them is either your offensive or defensive zone. Between them is the neutral zone.”

Her brow wrinkled, so I asked, “Are you still with me?”

“Yeah. Just wishing I brought a notepad with me. I have a feeling you’ve barely scratched the surface, and I’m trying to keep the terminology straight.”

“Look. You can pull up a hockey rink diagram on an internet search. If it’s not already labeled, I can help you do that, and we can create a glossary so you don’t get confused. I know it’s a lot.”

“You can say that again,” she said with a sigh.

Reaching the edge of the rink, I explained the final line. “Now, this is the goal line. That blue paint in the middle of it is usually where you’d see a net and is called the crease. The puck must cross the line inside the net to count. The whole puck, not just part of it.”

“Can I see a net?” Dakota peered up at me with curious eyes.

“Sure.”

Sitting her on the bench, I opened a door along the boards and pushed out a regulation-sized net, sliding it to where it would usually rest on the ice.

Retrieving Dakota, I brought her closer to inspect it. She let go of my hand to hold the crossbar, which rested at shoulder height.

“Wow, it’s big.”

“You ever seen a goalie in full gear?” I asked.

Shaking her head, she glanced back at me. “No. Why?”

“Goalies are usually big guys. You’re hard-pressed to find one under six feet. You throw on pads, and they take up most of this net. They call it a game of inches because you have to find the tiniest window and thread the needle, basically.”

Frowning, she mused, “This game sounds hard. Why would anyone play it?”

“Some of us don’t get a choice.” I meant to say it under my breath, but when her eyes widened, I knew I’d failed.

“Why wouldn’t you have a choice? It’s your life.” She eyed me quizzically.

“The world doesn’t always work in black and white, Dakota.”

“But this is your job, your profession.” She didn’t understand. How could she?

I opened my mouth, ready to ask her to drop it, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Digging it out, I almost laughed at the irony of seeing Jaxon’s name on an incoming text. God was having a really good laugh up there today.

Sliding open the text, I saw a picture message and a room number. Any animosity I had toward my brother vanished instantly, and I peeked at Dakota with a smile.

“Wanna go on a field trip?”

Chapter 7

Dakota

Braxton was not atall what I thought he would be like. Sure, he had that cocky athlete swagger, but there was something deeper beneath the surface.

First, he’d nearly knocked me onto my ass when he said that word choice mattered. As a writer, that was practically my motto. A tiny shift could completely change a sentence and have a different meaning. When he said that, it felt like he could see directly into my soul.

Next, he’d ever so casually called me Firefly. I didn’t know where that had come from or why, but it was such a stark contrast to what I’d been called by other men that it stole my breath away. I was accustomed to pet names in fiction. Hell, I wrote them every day. But to hear one slip from his perfectly plush lips, aimed at me? He was putting my book boyfriends to shame.

Then, there was the way he instantly wanted to tear Nix’s head off for his not-so-clever nicknames. I had to fight not to swoon.

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