Page 38 of Yo Ho Ho
Basic questions, basic answers, basic notes. Basic day as the players headed off the ice after another basic practice.
"What were you watching Logan for?" Becca asked.
"Hm?"
"Logan," she said. "You seemed to be watching Logan quite a bit during practice this morning."
Maybe today wasn't so basic after all.
"Uh, I was just…" Max had to stall, trying to come up with some quick answer before the media guys caught up with her and the PR rep to stick their own noses in what was going on. Luckily, she remembered that night when she ran into him at the ice machine, his shirt off, his body gorgeous. "Logan was favoring one of his shoulders a few weeks ago so I was trying to keep an eye on him."
See? Believable, Max thought as she tucked her notepad into her bag.
It was a quick turnaround back to the hotel so no time for the media's questions, which meant no time for Max to have to be in close proximity to Logan. That was actually a good thing because if Becca had noticed her acting strange while sitting up in the stands, she would need some time to find a better way to control her emotions and hide her feelings before the game that night.
Instead, she busied herself by typing up her notes to send back to the editors in Detroit and see if there was anything they wanted her to focus on for the game that night. Half her notes were about Logan. Dammit, she really wasn't hiding her feelings for him very well. Sure, he had ravished her the night before, but she was a professional woman. She needed to get a grip and just push through. It wouldn't be much longer until her work was done.
Of course, that was assuming that what happened last night was something she would want to repeat after she lost her job. She pretty much figured that Logan wanted to continue on with the scandalous part of their relationship considering how he had yelled at her in the parking lot — and how he had ravished her in her hotel room.
She packed up her suitcase, ready to take it down and load it on to the bus before they had to head to the arena tonight. The team was leaving right after the game for the airport since the flight up to Jacksonville wouldn't be too long. They'd be walking into their hotel rooms by midnight.
But would Logan be walking into her hotel room again? As much as she would want that, she had a deadline to hit tonight. Her final Sunday column for theDetroit Herald. Writing Sunday columns was always a bit of a pain in the ass. Writing her last one and putting everything she wanted to say in 500 words? That was going to be especially tough. She was dreading that more than any of her other columns in her career.
She actually decided to pop her laptop open, hoping maybe sitting in front of a computer screen would jog her memory, inspire some ideas. But she just ended up staring at the screen and getting nothing in return.
The alarm on Max's phone started to bleep, and she quickly turned it off before shutting her laptop down. That was enough for now. She dropped it in her carry-on bag, then unzipped her suitcase. Her black slacks and red sweater were right on top along with a pair of sensible black heels. Some people wear hockey skates to work, some people wore sensible but fashionable shoes to hike through an arena just for a hot dog and free wifi in the media booth.
But no matter how it was done, Max had to make sure the work she did tonight was professional. Eyes down, head in the game, nothing but writing. She had a job to do and that meant she couldn't be distracted by Logan Moore.
The bus pulled up to their second hotel in two days before the players and staff grabbed their suitcases and wearily dragged themselves inside.
Tonight had not been a good night for anyone. The team seemed off for some reason — missed opportunities, needless penalties, weak shots. Miami, on the other hand, was on fire. A hat trick for their captain and two more goals by their new rookie sensation. The Pirates got one goal from a breakaway by Jordan King. It was the only bright spot in a dreadful 60 minutes of hockey.
Becca handed out key cards to the media, who shuffled into waiting elevators. At least it would be a quiet night since the game stories were easy to write and send off to sports desks back at home.
"You have edits to make tonight?" Charlie asked her.
Max looked down at her watch to see it was past 11 o'clock. "Nope, the paper went to print already," she said. "Nothing I can do to stop it now."
"What about online edits?"
She shook her head. "We've scaled those back since, you know, the whole thing."
"Right."
Charlie kept scrolling through messages on his phone, making nothing more than a casual nod to her impending doom. It seemed to be the tactic most of the media guys had decided to take regarding her job termination, which didn't bother her. Sure, sometimes, she wished someone would acknowledge that yes, her job was going away. It was really going to suck. This was her life now.
The elevator doors dinged open and Max said her quick goodbyes to her media friends before heading down to her room. The door key didn't seem to work the first time and she had to try again, wasting time waiting for the stupid thing to click open. She heard someone snicker from the door down the hall.
Sure enough, Logan and Alex were staying next to her. Again.
"Something you want to say, Moore?" she asked in a light-hearted tone.
"Just think it's funny that you're doing about as well with that door as we did trying to score tonight."
He gave her a quick smile and pushed his door open as Alex yawned and followed him in. Max followed his lead, thankful that her stupid key card finally decided to work.
Max dropped her suitcase on the extra bed and quickly dug through it to find her black yoga pants, a hoodie, and her trademark bunny slippers. Then she pulled out her laptop again and booted it up. She was determined to get this stupid Sunday column done, especially because the team didn't have a morning skate tomorrow. She could sleep until noon before she had to head to the arena.
