Page 43 of In My Hockey Era
Bennett:Heard we’re working together, Quinn.Try not to fall in love with me over All-Star Weekend.
I snort, shaking my head before typing back.
Me:Try not to embarrass yourself on national TV, Wilder.
The three little dots appear almost immediately.
Bennett:No promises.
Vivian’s assistant had sent me the rough itineraryfor the weekend.We’d fly in on Friday afternoon, and that evening there’s a welcome party/mixer for players, media, and VIP guests with live music, whiskey tastings, and Southern food.
Saturday morning is a charity fan event with a Q&A, and a fun skills competition.Bennett and I will have some free time in the afternoon, and that evening is the All-Star game.
There’s a brunch on Sunday and PR wants us todebrief our experience, and then we’re scheduled for an early afternoon flight back home to Dallas.
This entire weekend will be gold for the podcast, and I’m excited.
And the best part?It’s all for a good cause.
17
FIRST-CLASS TURBULENCE
Lucy
The plane hums beneath us, the steady vibration of the engines filling the silence between me and Bennett.Not that it’s an uncomfortable silence.If anything, there’s an easy sort of anticipation in the air—one that matches the excited buzz in my chest.
I glance over at him, sprawled out in his first-class seat like he belongs there, which, well—he does.But still, it’s kind of unfair how effortlessly he commands space.He’s scrolling on his phone, probably looking at some hockey stats or messaging a teammate in a group chat.
“This seat is wasted on you,” I mutter, shifting to get more comfortable.
Bennett glances up, smirking.“Excuse me?”
“You’re not even enjoying it.”I gesture to the plush recliner.“Like, you should at least be drinking champagne or taking advantage of the hot towel service.Something bougie.”
He chuckles, locking his phone and resting his head against the seat.“You could order a glass of champagne you know?”
“I know.”
Bennett lifts a brow, expression amused.“Quinn, you don’t need my permission.Be bougie.”
I scowl at him.“Yeah, but I didn’t want to be that person who takes the PR freebie.Some of us have principles.”
“Oh, right, yourprinciples,” he drawls.“Is that what you were thinking about when you took Vivian up on that press box invite?”
I shove his arm, but he just laughs, shifting toward me a little.The banter is easy, the energy light.It’s almost too easy, considering we’re about to spend an entire weekend together.
Should I be more nervous?
Before I can overthink that, the captain announces our descent into Nashville, and I feel a flutter of excitement.This weekend is going to befun.
The mixer is held at a sprawling rooftop venue, the Nashville skyline stretching behind the crowd.The air smells like barbecue and something fried, and the hum of conversation and laughter fills the space.
I take it all in—the players, the coaches, the media personalities I recognize from TV.It’s surreal, being here as more than just a fan.
Bennett’s by my side, his presence warm and solid, even as he gets stopped every few minutes by someone wanting to shake his hand or slap his back.He takes it all in stride, charming and easygoing, like he was made for this.
“You good?”he asks when there’s a lull, tipping his chin at me.
