Page 22 of Second-Rate Superstar
“Why—why would I need to be able to skate?” Panic stole through me. Maybe this was a bad idea. I figured he’d explain the basics and be on his way. I hadn’t expected a practical demonstration.
“It’s a yes or no question, Dakota.”
The way my name rolled off his tongue bordered on sinful. I was in big trouble.
“Kinda? I haven’t been on the ice in years.”
Braxton shrugged. “It’s like riding a bike. You’ll be fine.”
“Debatable.” I eyed him. “You’re not thinking of trussing me up in all that gear, are you?”
He shook his head. “As adorable as you’d look, no. The game is fast-paced. Watching live, it would be difficult to keep up. At ice level, we can slow it down. I was thinking a private lesson would be a great starting point. Just me and you. A whole sheet of ice at our disposal. What do you say?”
I was out of options; I knew that. Unless I wanted to face public backlash for abandoning my current project, there wasn’t much of a choice.
Sticking my hand out, I said, “You’ve got a deal.”
We shook on it and sealed my fate. For as long as it took to nail down this sport, I would be spending time with Braxton Slate, hockey royalty.
Now, all I needed was my brain and body to get on the same page. No matter what, I couldn’t fall for his charming act. I would not repeat my mother’s mistakes.
Chapter 6
Braxton
Going to Dakota’s house,I had intended to ask her out—cognizant that she wasn’t interested but willing to give it a try anyway. What I hadn’t expected was that she would ask to spend time with me, learning the game. It seemed almost a contradiction that a girl so vehemently opposed to sports would choose to write a book about hockey.
There was more to this story, and I was hopeful that spending time together would help uncover the details—not only about her, but her choice of subject matter. From her notes at the house party, Dakota wasn’t looking to paint professional hockey players in a favorable light.
It was up to me to change her mind.
The season had gotten off to a hot start, with the Comets winning the home opener against the San Diego Surf, then a quick road trip to Manhattan, securing a victory over the New York Freedom. All eyes were on us as the reigning champions. The oddsmakers in Vegas had us as favorites to repeat.
Back in Hartford after an overnight stay in New York, I texted Dakota.
Home for a few days before our next road trip. You have time for that hockey lesson?
Trying to play it cool when I saw those three dots indicating she was typing her reply, I threw my phone in my stall and headed out to practice. I didn’t want to seem too eager with an instant response to whatever she sent back. That didn’t mean I wasn’t desperate to know her answer. It was all I could think about as Coach Moreau ran us through drills, preparing us to play the Chicago Crush later that night.
Sweaty, with my muscles mildly achy, I went straight for my phone once Coach dismissed us to shower and rest prior to the game. Grinning, I saw Dakota had texted me back.
Dakota:I guess. Do we really have to go onto the ice?
You either want the full experience or you don’t—your choice.
Dakota:Ugh. It’s not about what I want, but what I need.
Pick you up tomorrow at five?
Dakota:I can drive myself. Just send me the address.
Sure thing. Dress warm. See you tomorrow.
Sending over the location of the Comets’ practice rink located in the Hartford suburbs, I hit the showers, unable to wipe the smile from my face. She might be fighting it, but getting my foot in the door was the first step. Whatever hangup she had about professional athletes,I was confident I could show her that not all of us lived up to the stereotypes portrayed by the media—or the ones banging your roommate.
I had to stifle a laugh when Dakota showed up at the rink dressed in a winter parka and snow pants. When I said to dress warm, I had meant a hat and gloves, not like she was about to climb Mount Everest and would die of frostbite if every inch of her skin wasn’t covered.
Taking my time, eyeing her from head to toe, I asked, “Are you going to be able to move in that getup?”
