Page 32 of Game Misconduct
You have to remain professional, polished, untouchable.
I adjust the cuff of my shirt so the French seam lines perfectly with the hem of my skirt. I imagine I can smooth the thrum under my skin into a flatline.
I imagine I can smooth out anything that keeps me from being anything but the owner of the Atlanta Vipers.
Holt’s final whistle cuts the air, indicating the end of practice. Helmets lift and players laugh, shoving at each other as they head into the locker room.
Maddox doesn’t celebrate. He pulls his mask free and collects his gear like a soldier expecting the war to go on without him.
But just before he leaves the ice, he looks up.
For a second, I swear the glass isn’t there. The distance collapses into a line of heat that runs from his eyes to mysternum and all the way down between my legs, where my thighs clench of their own volition.
It feels like a dare.
It feels like an answer to a question I don’t let myself ask.
I force my hand to release the railing. The dents in my palm mirror the place between my ribs that hurts when I breathe too hard.
My phone buzzes. I tug it free, still watching the ice.
Tessa: Sierra’s looking for you. She needs you in the tunnel in five. You’ve got interviews in ten. Where are you?
I swallow the instinct to text back hiding in plain sight.
Me: On my way.
Shoving my phone into my blazer pocket, I take one last look, but Maddox is gone.
While disappointment hits the pit of my stomach, I smooth my hair like my Aunt Sara used to do before she pushed me into a room full of people who would be delighted to see me fail.
Smile, shoulders back, and remember they can smell fear, darling.
I straighten my spine and head out of the observation deck to face the hell known as Media Day.
Sierra meets me at the mouth of the press room, her bun tight with not a hair out of place.
But licks of panic shine in her eyes.
“They moved the locals up,” she whispers, shoving a schedule at me. “Fox 5 is already setting up, and Channel 2 is short a mic, and—” She swallows, resets. “Where do you want Jace first?”
“Jace goes last,” I say. “Start with Finn. Give Channel 2 his special brand of charm so they feel special. Keep Riley moving—if he stalls, pair him with Logan. Keep Cal with you. He needs a handhold.”
“And Lasker?”
My tongue touches my teeth. Heat flares low. “He’s with me.”
She crosses his name off her list. “Copy.”
My phone buzzes again.
Tessa: Board liaison in the hall. Wants a word before you hit the podium. Dean wants a revised quote for the release. Where do you want the hit to land?
Me: Tell Dean we hold the quote ’til after the first interviews. I want real tape to pull language from. And tell the liaison he gets five minutes in the green hall after Finn’s spot. If he wants more, he can schedule it like everyone else.
I angle myself into the press room doorway. There’s heat from all the lights and hungry cameras.
Dean slides up beside me. “You ready for it?”
