Page 11 of Her Hat Trick Daddies
As I approach the security station that separates the professional wing of the arena from the public, tension twists in my stomach like a live wire. I half-expect the burly guard to toss me out on my ass, credentials or not. But instead, he barely glances at my ID before waving me through.
Waiting just beyond is a petite Asian woman with glossy red lips and a tablet tucked under one arm, none other than Cecille Chang, the team’s office manager.
“Leighton!” She exclaims, reaching out for a hug.
“So good to see you again. It’s been a while,” I say.
“Looking forward to working with you. Ted Cosgrove, the new team owner, is here to meet you in Coach Henley’s office. Let’s go. Don’t want to keep him waiting. He has a long day ahead of him.”
“Oh, right.”
As I follow Cecille through a wing of the building I’ve never stepped foot in, she leads me to a sleek office decked out in bold, unmistakable colors. The carpet is a vibrant orange, threeof the four walls are a solid, punchy blue, and the fourth—a dramatic black accent wall—displays a framed team jersey and last season’s official photo in place of traditional art. Every metal detail, from the doorknob to the file cabinets, gleams in polished silver. Of course he’d design it in team colors. That tracks.
Still, stepping into a room with both of my new bosses makes my palms itch. I have to resist the urge to smooth imaginary wrinkles from my skirt or fuss with my hair, which is tucked neatly into my usual swirled bun.
“Ted, this is the new half of our commentating team, Leighton Jennings,” Cecille says. “Leighton, this is Ted Cosgrove, owner of the Avalanche, and you’ve met Head Coach Atticus Henley.”
Coach Henley gives me a warm nod. “Welcome back, Leighton. And please—just call me Coach.”
We’ve crossed paths before through Ava and her boys, so his laidback vibe doesn’t surprise me. I smile, feeling more at ease than I expected. “Thanks, Coach.”
Ted Cosgrove, on the other hand, I’ve only met once—virtually—during my Zoom interview. The corner of his mouth lifts like he’s fighting off a smirk.
“We’ve been following your work back in Jersey,” he says. “I like how steady you stayed under pressure. Especially when that brawl broke out in the minors and a chair nearly took your head off.”
I snort. “Yeah, not exactly my finest on-camera moment.”
Ted shrugs, clearly entertained. “Maybe not. But it was memorable. And that counts for something.”
I chuckle, though it sounds more like a nervous titter. “Definitely an interesting day.”
“I’ll bet,” he says, the lines on his face deepening with a knowing grin. His goatee is still dark, no sign of gray despite the miles I’m sure he’s logged in this business.
The chair incident had been harrowing in the moment because I was right in the line of fire. Usually, the violence in hockey stays on the ice, but that night, it erupted in the stands. A brawl broke out among the fans, and someone hurled one of those foldable seats with a backrest at their rivals. A few people got hurt. I was just lucky not to be one of them..
I shrug lightly. “What can I say? Comes with the territory when you cover hockey.”
Coach Henley chuckles. “That it does.”
“Well, I’ll let you all get better acquainted,” Cecille says, glancing at her watch. “Still have a few more new staff to greet at the gate.” She gives me a quick smile as she turns to leave. “I’ll try to grab you at lunch, Leighton.”
“Sounds good,” I say with a nod.
Just then, Coach Henley’s gaze shifts past me, toward the doorway. “There you are,” he says to someone approaching.
I glance over my shoulder and nearly do a double-take.
“Leighton, meet our new team captain, David Decker,” Coach says. “He’s our star forward at center.”
“Nice to meet you,” David says, extending a callused hand.
I take it, doing my best to suppress the shiver that rolls down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s from the roughness of his touch or the deep, resonant timbre of his voice. That voice… it tugs at something in my memory, like I’ve heard it before. But I can’t quite place it.
I take a moment to look at him, like really look. If you searched for the wordhandsomein the dictionary, I swear his face would be plastered right next to it. Maybe even gracing the nextSexiest Under 50magazine cover. He’s got that rugged, unfairly sexy thing going on, the kind that doesn’t need an introduction, just walks in and owns the space. He’s older than me by at least ten years—in his mid-thirties, I’d guess—with a touch of gray in his neatly trimmed beard and his salt and pepper hair. But like all confident, stupidly good-looking men, he wears it too damn well. Even in a hoodie, he radiates this effortless dominance that shouldn’t be hot… but is. So hot. Calm. Collected.
Girl, get a grip. Your eyes are drooling all over him.
“I have some other appointments to get to,” Ted announces as he stands, pulling me out of my thoughts. “It’s great to have you on board, Leighton.”
