Page 5 of The Prince and the Puck
She was pretty, I noticed, now that my eyes had adjusted a little bit and she’d stepped closer to the camera aimed at me. Long dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Pouty dark-painted lips, and wide dark eyes. And then there was the body. I’d always been partial to women who looked like they couldpotentially kick my ass. It created a fun dynamic in other wrestling-type activities. Not that Lizzy and I would be partaking in any of those together.
Also, Lizzy was basically a coworker, and the team had a strict no fraternization rule. Plus, she was a distraction. In my opinion, this whole PR thing was a distraction, but I was not going to argue.
“So what do you bring to the Wombats?” she asked me now.
“Power, speed. Good looks. Charisma,” I laughed.
“And your intention is to stay on the team for the foreseeable future?”
“Um. Yes. Wait, why? Did you hear something?” That question made me nervous. Was I being cut? Traded? Had Dad finally succeeded at working some kind of deal to get me fired?
“No, of course not. Just trying to drive at your commitment.”
“I’m committed,” I assured her, maybe a little too vehemently. I checked my watch, realizing I was going to be late for practice if we didn’t wrap this up. And being late was not how I wanted to demonstrate my commitment. “Lizzy? I’m gonna have to catch you later. Practice and all.”
“Of course. Thanks, Declan.”
I handed Lizzy the microphone back, and was halfway out of the room when I realized she’d used my full name. Which I definitely had not told her. Of course, it was probably on the official roster, but everyone in the states called me Deck.
Weird.
And those questions… If these were the kinds of things the public relations effort was going to focus on, it was not going to make us a household name. Maybe the subject of some biting jokes or recommended nap time fodder for infants…
“Deck! You’re late!” Coach hollered.
“Your PR lady,” I explained, pointing a thumb behind me as I hustled toward the locker room.
The coach rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
I laced my skates and stepped out onto the ice with the rest of the Wombats for practice. I just needed to keep my nose clean, my history hidden, and my record impressive. Pretty little PR ladies with pouty lips were definitely not my concern.
CHAPTER 4
LIZZY
DON’T BE SARCASTIC WITH THE KING…
“Your Majesty,forgive me saying, but this is a little bit ridiculous.” I realized I was hissing, but I couldn’t really have a private call in the confines of the Wombats Arena. For the majority of those who might overhear, the conversation would certainly be confusing. For one player in particular, it would set off more red flags and alarms than the historic invasion of our home country by the Durnish forces back in the sixties.
“Eliza, I know it’s a lot to ask, but your particular skill set would suggest your ability to convince my son of his true place and convince him that it is time for him to come home. As soon as possible.” The Queen still spoke to me like the child who used to play with her son.
“It would be easier if I were allowed to jump him from behind and take him down with a sleeper hold first,” I said, “then I would have a better chance of accomplishing the goal.”
“Do not injure the prince,” the king said sternly. He did not sound ill, though his cancer diagnosis had been the event that prompted my own presence here. With the king ill and the heir looking somewhat unreliable, the spare heir was needed. As soon as possible.
“Of course not, I won’t hurt him.” I hated being on speaker at the palace. The king and queen tended to take my calls together, and it was somewhat overwhelming having all that royal direction at one time.
“This is a very delicate situation,” the king reminded me. “Declan needs to come back of his own free will. He cannot be coerced. And no one there can know his true identity until he has accepted his position here at home—it would put him in grave danger.”
“Of course, sir.”
“So what is the problem? We have arranged the perfect entry for you,” the Queen said, sounding slightly annoyed.
“The biggest issue is that I don’t know anything about PR. This entire set up is so far-fetched, I have no idea how I’ll keep up the charade in any kind of convincing way.”
“The team’s owner accepted it,” the king reminded me. Of course, there’d been a sizable donation to make it happen.
“Right, but what will the coach think when I spend hours lurking around doing ‘PR’ things and nothing really comes from it except maybe the loss of one of his most valuable players?”
